


Last Night I Dreamt That I Grew Wings

by waywardwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel Castiel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Grace Bond, Happy Ending, Heaven's Civil War, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nesting, Openly Bisexual Dean, POV Alternating, Schmoopy Love, Seriously an Ending So Sweet Gabriel Might Eat It, Sexy Times, Singer Dean Winchester, Smut, Soul Bond, Top Dean, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 66,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5826130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardwings/pseuds/waywardwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About a week before Castiel is set to return to heaven to fight in the war, he meets singer/songwriter Dean Winchester after a concert.</p>
<p>They hit it off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thin Blue Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [hardcorewings.com](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/15311) by CloudyJenn. 
  * Inspired by [The Cabin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005989) by [Bookkbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookkbaby/pseuds/Bookkbaby). 



> Beta’d by my darling MissMikiQ for continuity, getting inside Dean’s head, and talking me out of using terrible adjectives.
> 
> Also beta’d by my incredible boyfriend who doesn’t really understand my unhealthy obsession with these two boys but also doesn't question it. He's awesome and deserves much more than a shout out at the beginning of this story but... Thanks love.
> 
> I wanted to write a world where angels and humans exist together and what that might look like. I also love the idea of the boys being relatively happy and secure(ish) in themselves. They're not co-dependent, they just really like having each other around. Also, _wings_.
> 
> In case it isn’t grossly obvious, "Dean Winchester and the Bloody Kansas Band" is shamelessly based off of Josh Ritter and the Royal City Band. If you’ve never heard of Josh Ritter, I highly recommend you look him up. Each chapter title and lyric at the beginning of each chapter is from a song by Josh Ritter and is credited as such (with links!). Any and all other song lyrics mentioned in this fic are also by Josh Ritter and will be credited at the end of the respective chapter. Again, I cannot take any credit for any lyrics in this fic - Ritter’s lyrics just happen to work beautifully with the world I created for the boys inside my head.
> 
> I love your comments and I'll always try to respond.
> 
> **This is my first time writing fanfic. Have mercy.**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If God's up there he's in a cold dark room  
> The Heavenly hosts are just the cold dark moons  
> He bent down and made the world in seven days  
> And ever since he's been walking away  
> Mixing with nitrogen in lonely holes  
> Where neither seraphim or raindrops go  
> I see an old man wandering the halls alone  
> But only a full house is gonna make a home  
> [-Thin Blue Flame](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mcy9qdmca3E&feature=youtu.be)

**Chapter 1 ******

  
Castiel received his call at the beginning of February and was expected to report for duty by the end of the month. From what he could tell, the wars in Heaven didn’t vary much from the wars on Earth. They were bloody, selfish, pointless, good for business, and if there weren’t enough soldiers willing to fight then a draft was issued.

Since God had gone missing fewer angels had been created and angel procreation on its own was lacking, save for the few large families, much like Castiel’s. Many angels left Heaven when the war started, including Castiel, his sister Anna, and even their brother Gabriel. 

But now, the war had been going on for so long and so many angels had been killed that they were calling many of The Fallen home to fight. 

Castiel wasn’t a fighter. He was planning on running instead, but how do you run from Heaven? Sigils and spells only last for so long and he was unpracticed and didn’t have his grace. There are always loopholes, but he had come to Earth to be a human, not to spend this lifetime running from his past. 

A week later when Anna got her call too, Castiel knew he wasn’t going to let her go back alone. 

Castiel wasn’t created to be a warrior. He was a watcher; not a Grigori, but a Guardian. And Anna, fearless as she seemed, had been educated and developed specifically for prayer response and fulfillment. She’d never even seen an empyrean fight, save the ones between Father, Michael, and Lucifer at the dinner table back before, well, _you know_. 

Things must be getting really bad for the two of them to be called back, and Castiel knew that Michael had something to do with this. 

Of course, Castiel and Anna had both received their blades at their inception ceremonies, but those were taken when they came to Earth. Neither blade had seen blood nor battle in its lifetime. It was more a custom than it was necessary during times of peace to present a blade to the new angels. Castiel didn’t think that he’d ever have to actually use his blade. He never could get used to carrying it around. 

As it stood now, however, they had just about three weeks left on Earth, which made Castiel more depressed than he had ever been. Sure, he had been on Earth for five years and hadn’t actually done much, but there was always the _possibility_ of doing something if he chose. He could do human things like travel or play football or learn to cook or become a dentist, but five years hadn’t been long enough to figure out what he wanted to make his life. Humans are given at least eighteen years before they are required to figure things out, so it was unrealistic for anyone to expect him to figure it out in five. He was still grappling with the ebb and flow of human emotion, trying to figure anything out beyond that was a struggle. 

The only thing Castiel knew was that he was fairly lonely. He had Anna and Gabriel, sure, but he hadn’t made too many human acquaintances. He had spent centuries watching how humans interacted with each other – friendships, relationships, romance, sex, love, family – it was one of the reasons he had wanted so desperately to come to Earth. He wanted to know what it was like to _feel_ those things towards someone and _feel_ it from that someone in return. 

Sex had certainly been an interesting experience. That was one of the things Gabriel told him he absolutely must try, so he did – a couple of women, a couple of men, and a kinky couple who wanted to do freaky things to his wings that made him run out of the room with his pants around his ankles. One-on-one sex he could see getting on board with, but he couldn’t help thinking about how much better it would be if there was something else there too; love, friendship, passion, desire, something… _anything_ besides alcohol, arousal, and awkward advice from Gabriel. 

Now it was too late. 

The phrase ‘watching life pass you by’ resonated with him, and the uncomfortable, unrefined human emotion of _regret_ he felt along with that realization wasn’t something he was prepared for. 

Still, Castiel planned on simply going about his business; going to work: going home, doing some heavy reading, and possibly going out in the evenings with Gabriel and Anna until his time was up. 

Anna refused to accept that. 

Anna had adjusted to Earth so easily that it made Castiel jealous. He figured it was because she was a female, and a female angel with perfect wings was what fantasies were made of. The epitome of angelic, she was essentially a perfect human with wide eyes and a bright smile with lovely wings to match. Elderly woman would praise God for gracing them with her presence, and at the same time young men would be adding her to their spank bank. People in general were more accepting of her than they were of Castiel. 

She also seemed to know how to be a human. She didn’t spend any time worrying about fitting in, she just _fit in_. Anna had friends and went out dancing. She went on dates with men who would take her to expensive restaurants where she’d eat tiny portions of artistically displayed raw fish. Anna took ballet classes and listened to modern music. Anna had an Instagram account with more than 1500 followers. 

“Smoke ‘em if you’ve got ‘em,” she’d said after receiving her call. And Castiel didn’t quite understand what she meant by it until she quit her job, emptied her bank account and told Castiel to do the same so they could go a little crazy. He didn’t know what she had in mind, but he was willing to let her lead him down a road that could only consist of debauched self-indulgence and poor decision-making. 

It was all too easy for them to convince Gabriel to tag along. 

They weren’t going to escape the draft or their responsibilities to Heaven but they sure as hell were going to leave this planet with a bang. 


	2. Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last we saw some people huddled up against  
> The rain that was descending like railroad spikes and hammers  
> They were headed for the border—walking and then running  
> And then they were gone into the fog but Anne said underneath their jackets she saw wings  
> [-Wings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhlwxN9Jylc&feature=youtu.be)

**Chapter 2 ******

From the outside it looked like the building could’ve housed a small, modern tattoo parlor or art gallery; but after he showed his ticket and got _Zesty!_ stamped on his wrist in purple ink, he followed the rest of the queue through the narrow hallway lined with concert posters, all autographed and framed in large ornate frames assuredly nailed to the black walls. 

Castiel would have enjoyed stopping to look at some of them, but the hallway was too narrow and no one would have been able to get past him – his goddamn wings were too big. Even if he drew them in as tightly as possible they’d still take up too much space in the tiny corridor. 

At this point, most humans were used to seeing angels walking the Earth - angels were now 8% of the population within the United States and 16% in the world – but many humans were still unsure and uneducated on angel behaviors, especially regarding the their wings which were their most distinctive feature. Castiel noticed that people generally tended to go out of their way in order to avoid touching his wings, giving him a wide berth, like he might extend them suddenly just to knock someone out. 

Most angels seem to be acclimating to life on Earth rather well. After the initial bout of contamination illness and culture-shock, and then the mind-numbing amount of forms and paperwork that the human race demands be thoroughly filled out and properly filed before moving in, angels are usually able to make themselves right at home: making friends, finding human mates and fulfilling jobs, even imbibing in and enjoying human pleasures like reality TV, farmer’s markets, painkillers and text messaging. 

However, most angels don’t have wings like Castiel. They make him different, to say the least. 

Gabriel, his older brother, has wings that elicit reactions from the human females similar to when they see a puppy; “Oh my god they’re so _cute!_ ” and “Can I _pet_ them?” They barely peak over his shoulders and fall just below his hips, and they’re downy soft and sort of fluffy, the feathers pearly white with golden flecks. They give him about a five foot total wingspan, which is respectable. They are also generally accompanied with Gabriel’s shit-eating grin, which is less respectable. 

Anna, his younger sister, has beautiful sandstone wings, evocative of expensive cars and vintage lace. Anna’s feathers are always in order, well-groomed and beautifully maintained. They are narrow and stay below her shoulders, set lower on her shoulders than her brothers’. The tips of her flight feathers taper gracefully to a point at the back of her thighs. Her wings span just over six feet at a full extension, a little large for an angel of her size, but they are very lean and delicate, and not intimidating at all. 

Castiel’s wings were very intimidating, and would never _ever_ be considered cute. 

First of all, they were huge. His wingspan is over twelve feet when fully extended and, while he was a tall man, the wrists were level with his ears and Castiel’s lengthy flight feathers would drag on the ground a few inches behind him causing people to step on them if they followed him too closely. He’d grown accustomed to trimming them or plucking them out regularly, both of which hurt, but at least he could do it in the privacy of his own room instead of yelping when someone accidentally stepped on them, pulling out multiple at a time. 

Second of all, since they were so big, they were hard to maintain, which meant they were always messy. When he first got to Earth he had tried to keep them groomed, but it took _so long_ , and between the wind and people bumping into him and just going about normal, everyday Earthly things, they would be disheveled by lunchtime and it just wasn’t worth it. 

He didn’t have a mate to preen him or help him with his molt (or do any of the _other_ things that mates do), and he didn’t trust the angels who had taken up residence in salons as wing-stylists or “fluffers.” It had been almost three years since anyone had touched his wings in any kind of congenial capacity, and he had to pay extra for that service which was so embarrassing he decided right then and there: _never again!_

Anna once offered to brush his feathers after his difficult first molt on Earth had left him disheveled and pathetic looking, but he couldn’t accept that. It was too weird. Instead he shook them out and combed through what he could reach with his fingers after Gabriel sprayed him down with a garden hose. 

He had let himself go, so to speak. He kept his wings clean, and they were fairly shiny even though he didn’t use the feather nutrient oil as often as he should. He’d run his fingers through his feathers to straighten them out, but any type of detailing had been abandoned long ago. 

Third, and worst of all, was the color Castiel’s wings. 

_“Dark as Sin.”_

_“Awful, just plain awful.”_

_“What did you do to deserve those?”_

They were black. Solid black. 

There used to be other colors that shone in the right lighting: dark and iridescent blues and greens and purples, some milky white streaks on the underside. Castiel actually liked the color of his wings when he was younger. That changed when he got older and other angels began to tease him. Even in Heaven he realized that he was different for many reasons beyond his wings, and they just brought that to everyone’s attention faster. 

All the color dulled when he came to Earth. Gabriel said it was due to the frequencies of the sun and how human photoreceptors were unable to process the wavelengths of light bouncing back from ethereal surfaces. The human eye, therefore, is unable to discern the subtle shifts of opalescent colors of an angel’s feathers due to the standard light source of the planet. And, after a few hundred more years of angels and humans mating and evolving, the angel-hybrid race should be able to see an angel’s true coloring. 

Actually, Gabriel had said “Fucking science, bro!” But Castiel did the research on his own to which Gabriel responded “That’s exactly what I said!” 

It took a few years for him to get used to the way people looked at him: the stares and offense and occasional fear on people’s faces. As angels became commonplace, studies were done, mythology and lore was shared. Despite all of the science and research and results, rumors were spread and propaganda was spewed through tabloids and every political angle imaginable. 

Too many people now assumed that angels with light colored wings were _good_ and angels with dark colored wings were _bad._ The portion of the human race who knew that Lucifer had been an angel assumed he had black or dark, blood red wings. Castiel had been asked if he was The Devil more times than he cared to remember. While he may share a Father with Lucifer, Castiel would like to think that is where their similarities end. 

Besides, Lucifer actually had ivory colored wings before he took up residence in Hell, but no one likes to hear about that. 

Those thoughts were all whisked from Castiel’s mind when the cramped hallway he had been corralled through opened suddenly into a colossal ballroom. The ceiling was at least forty feet high with many extravagant chandeliers hanging low, emitting a dim, golden light over the entire room. Castiel thinks briefly about stretching his wings out in here because it’s so big, but he doesn’t want to be _that guy,_ drawing attention to himself, claiming the room as soon as he walks in with some flamboyant display of his feathers. Castiel hated those guys and girls. And yes, girls do it too. 

He can’t remember when he last stretched out both wings at once, indoors or out. The thought makes him stiff and jittery, feeling the natural longing to extend his wings, fluff out the feathers and give them a few good beats. Instead he rolls his shoulders, then the shoulders of his wings to relieve some of the tension while keeping them tucked close to his body. They feel so much heavier than usual. 

Gabriel and Anna wave at him from the front of the venue by the stage, and his thoughts and annoyance at his wings is gratefully interrupted and he walks across the hackneyed wooden floor to join them. 

“Hey bro.” Gabriel hands Castiel the beer he’d been holding. It was only half full now, and Gabriel just shrugged. 

“You two got here early.” Castiel takes a drink of the beer and grimaces because it’s warm and flat, and he assumes at this point that Gabriel had probably picked it up after it had been abandoned by someone else. 

“Yeah because little Anna here needs to be front row.” 

“If I’m not in the front I can’t see.” 

“Oh I know it. Between you squished against this gate and Castiel lurking in the shadows against some wall I’ll be lucky if I see any of the concert at all.” 

“I block the view. If I’m against the wall no one gets pissed that I’m in the way. Besides, it’s a concert. It’s music, why do I need to see it?” 

“Because he’s so pretty!” Anna swoons, which is out of character for her. 

“So, so pretty,” Gabriel parrots mockingly, cocking an eyebrow towards Castiel who just rolls his eyes. 

“I’m going to go get myself an actual beer and then be a loner against that wall.” Castiel shoves the stale beer back at Gabriel who takes it and sets it on a nearby speaker where it is promptly removed by an irritated man in a yellow SECURITY polo. 

The venue is filling up and Castiel mumbles apologies to the people he bumps out of his way. He orders a beer, Purple Haze to match his purple _Zesty!_ stamp, and finds an unoccupied parcel of wall space to lean against, pressing his wings into it and relaxing. 

It’s actually a pretty decent view from this piece of wall. Castiel always appreciates a venue designed to make the entire place a front row seat. He has clear view of the stage, and he’s close enough to see the word _Gibson_ in gold script on one of the acoustic guitars without being in the way. 

He can see Anna and Gabriel from here too, which is comforting. There aren’t as many people as Castiel had expected by the way Anna had been talking about this concert. In her circle, Dean Winchester and the Bloody Kansas Band was the only music worth listening to. 

Castiel hadn’t told her that he didn’t listen to any of their songs before the show, so even if he could’ve been in the front row with them, he would still opt for hanging back. He didn’t deserve to be in the front row seeing how he wasn’t even a fan of the group playing. 

The lights dimmed and people began to hoot and clap as the opening band came on. They were lively and folksy but amateur, playing for a solid twenty minutes before Castiel abandoned his wall space to order another beer. Castiel reasoned that this must be his night because his space was still available when he got back to it. He leaned back once again, resuming his stance as the lights begin to dim once again. 

Except this time they don’t just dim, they black out completely until there is only the shadowy glow from lights above the bar and a few emergency lights on the floor of the stage. The mass of people at the center of the room scream and holler, and Castiel can see the golden halo of Anna’s wings flutter towards the front of the crowd as a shadow of a man takes the stage and picks up a guitar. 

A single golden spotlight comes on, illuminating the man that must be Dean Winchester. He is smiling into the microphone and without any preamble, while the crowd is still hooting and whistling for him, his fingers begin to dance across the strings, plucking out an elaborate riff. The roar of the crowd begins to fade as Dean Winchester continues to play. 

In his early years in Heaven, Castiel had a mentor who spoke quietly in order to compel him to listen. Dean Winchester seems to practice this same technique, and slowly, as more and more people realize he is playing, the crowd silences completely. The only sound is the riff through the speakers, and it’s so quiet that even from where Castiel is standing he can hear the steely twang of the strings themselves. 

He stops playing for a sustained second and it is dead silent, save for the folks behind the bar and the _hiss_ and _crack_ of beer bottles opening. Dean Winchester’s smile widens as he decides to continue playing. 

Then he begins to sing. 

Castiel lets go of the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in as Dean Winchester’s voice cuts through the air, rich and complex, not perfect by any means but so full of life and soul… 

He is so distracted by that voice that he doesn’t actually hear the song, at least not until the brief chorus: 

_Last night I dreamt that I grew wings_

He was telling a story and Castiel had missed the beginning because of that damn voice. It sounded like a group of angels being, what, hunted? He’d heard the word ‘holy’ at least once, so Dean Winchester had to be talking about angels, right? 

When the song ends the crowd erupts and Dean Winchester grins. He’s joined on stage by four more men and a blond girl who waste no time finding their places: a broad man in flat cap sits behind the piano, a gangly kid with a mullet slides onto the stool behind the drums, a scruffy looking Asian boy takes a wide stance at a stand-up bass, and one of the electric guitars is strapped on by a nervous-looking man with unruly hair who must be at least ten years older than the rest of the band mates. The girl looks like she’s barely an adult, all thin limbs and big brown doe-eyes, with a fiddle that fits comfortably under her chin. 

The drummer starts tapping a beat, the crowd claps along, the piano joins in, and Dean Winchester starts to sing, a little more country this time and accompanied beautifully by the deep bass. 

Four songs later and Castiel realizes that he’s strayed from his wall and is slowly gravitating towards the stage. 

Dean Winchester sings about badlands and the old west, girls and horses and trains, Kansas and the apocalypse. Castiel finds himself listening more for suggestive religious undertones, the subtext, and, of course, the angels. 

Dean Winchester is definitely singing about angels. 

Angels _and_ wings. 

Castiel decides that he likes Dean Winchester and the Bloody Kansas Band. He also decides that Anna’s appraisal of _he’s so pretty_ is the understatement of the century. 


	3. Lawrence, KS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some prophecies are self-fulfilling  
> But I’ve had to work for all of mine  
> Better times will come to me God willing  
> Lord I can’t leave this world behind  
> [-Lawrence, KS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NaOpaOkybtA&feature=youtu.be)
> 
> (Yes, Josh Ritter wrote a song called Lawrence, KS. You're welcome.)

**Chapter 3** __

Castiel was unemployed and bored and looking for a distraction. Gabriel had to work, and Anna had made plans with her friends for that evening, but not before bringing by every Dean Winchester and the Bloody Kansas Band cd she owned for Castiel to borrow. He listened to them all while doing research on the man and the band. 

As much as he hated Wikipedia because of their gross misrepresentation of angels in general, Castiel found himself spending an inappropriate amount of time on the Dean Winchester wiki page, reading, re-reading, clicking links and enlarging the few photographs on the page. 

_Dean Winchester (born January 24 th, 1979) is an American singer-songwriter and guitarist who performs and records with the Bloody Kansas Band. Winchester is known for his distinctive Americana style and narrative lyrics rooted in angel lore and history of the American West. In 2006 he was named one of the “50 Greatest Living Songwriters” by Mystery Spot Magazine. Winchester has been recognized by the group Seraphs for the Protection of Nephilims (SPN) for his support of the union between human and angel races, and he has played at multiple benefits and fundraisers for the Omni-Terra Partnership (OTP). _

Early Life: 

_Winchester was born and raised in Lawrence, Kansas, approximately 25 miles east of Topeka and 35 miles west of the Missouri state border. His mother was killed in a house fire when Dean was four years old. As a teenager, after hearing Willie Nelson’s “Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground” from_ Honeysuckle Rose _during a road trip with his uncle,_ _he began to write songs and bought his first guitar at Mass Street Music in Lawrence._

_Winchester dropped out of Lawrence High School in 1996 to help care for his younger brother, Samuel Winchester, after he was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia, by working at a local garage and salvage yard about two miles outside of Lawrence. In 2001 he received a GED and attended Johnson County Community College where he studied music, lore, and world religions. At the age of 23 Dean recorded his first album,_ Winchester _, at a student recording studio on the LCCC campus. He received an associate’s degree, but continued writing music and frequenting open mic nights all over the state, during which he sold copies of his album. He was asked to accompany Gillian Welch on her tour through Ireland. With the money he made from album and merchandise sales in Ireland, Winchester was able to devote himself to music full-time and support his brother._

Career: 

_A year and a half after recording_ _his self-titled album, Winchester recorded his second album,_ Off the Rack _for $1200. The song “Sammy and Me” was subsequently released as a single in Ireland, where Winchester was quickly becoming a word-of-mouth success, opening for The High Kings and then Jerry Fish & The Mudbug Club, before headlining his own shows. Winchester’s third album, _ Going to Hell, Again, _was produced by the former guitarist for_ The Frames _._

_In 2004, Winchester released his fourth album,_ The Alpha Years. _His fifth album,_ Chronologically Inaccurate Recitals of History, _received warm critical reception. In 2005, Winchester appeared on_ The Late Show with David Letterman _with the newly named Bloody Kansas Band. The performance on_ The Late Show _was drummer Ash Harvelle’s first live performance with the band._

_Winchester re-issued his second and third albums,_ Off the Rack _and_ Going to Hell, Again _. Each was re-issued as a two-disc deluxe edition containing both the original studio album as well as the solo acoustic versions of all the original tracks._

_Winchester’s sixth album,_ There Ain’t No Me if There Ain’t No You, _was released on April 23 rd, 2006. He made many of the songs available for free download online to promote the album. The album received positive reviews and spurred Dean Winchester and the Bloody Kansas Band to undertake a seven month North American Tour, visiting 120 cities throughout the United States and Canada and garnered a faithful following, many fans following the band across state lines. Dean Winchester is known for his high-energy performances and spending time with fans after his concerts for photos and autographs. _

Personal Life: 

_Dean Winchester has been romantically linked to Lisa Braeden, an instrumentalist in the American roots band_ Welsh Wild _. In a July 2005 interview with the_ San Francisco Chronicle, _when asked about Braeden Winchester said “When I picture myself happy, it’s with her.” The 2007 album_ Ghost Sickness _, was said to be written in response to Winchester discovering that Braeden had also been romantically involved with one of her band mates on-and-off for the duration of their relationship._

_On December 10 th, 2006, Winchester played a benefit concert at a homeless shelter in Lawrence, Kansas. It was later stated that Dean had spent multiple weeks at that specific shelter in 1991 with his father and brother. _

_Apart from music, Winchester also has an interest in classic cars and restored his father’s 1967 Chevrolet Impala years after his father, John E. Winchester, was killed after driving it off the road in Wyoming in 1999._

The Bloody Kansas Band: 

_In 2004, Winchester’s band members – some of whom had been performing with him since the mid 1990s – were given the name “The Bloody Kansas Band” (a reference to_ Bleeding Kansas _____that was a series of violent political confrontations in the United States involving anti-slavery Free-Staters and pro-slavery “Border Ruffians” in_ _Kansas between 1854 and 1861.)_  
  
___Dean Winchester – Lead vocals, guitar_  
___Kevin Tran – Bass, guitar, tuba, strings, back-up vocals_  
___Benny Lafitte– Piano, keyboards, organ, accordion_  
___Chuck Shurley – Guitar, lap steel, baritone, back-up vocals_  
___Ash Harvelle – Drums, percussion_  
___Jo Harvelle – Fiddle, viola, back-up vocals_  
__

_  
_ That is why Castiel hates Wikipedia – who really cares about the dates of album releases and locations of the studios? Castiel wants to know how Dean Winchester’s brother was doing now, how was he able to cope with the horrific circumstances of his parents’ deaths, how one got to spend time with Dean Winchester after a show, how much deeper he could he dig into the SPN, and what _exactly_ did ‘supporting the union of human and angel races’ mean? Was he himself interested in angels, or did he just support the rights for angels and humans to marry and mate? On top of that, Lisa was a girl’s name… could Dean Winchester be swayed by an awkward male angel? 

Wikipedia left too much unanswered. 

The next thing Castiel did was look up photographs of Dean Winchester until he was blushing. Scrolling through archives of concert photos and Google images, he saw close-up headshots, a smiling Dean Winchester with his sprinkling of freckles, shallow laugh lines, lush lips and eyes that burned emerald, sweet apple and amber, smiling into a microphone, cradling a guitar, or with his arm wrapped around an excited fan. 

Castiel noticed that a few of the fans pictured had wings and he had a hard time deciding whether he was relieved or jealous. 

The last thing that Castiel did before closing his laptop and turning in for the night was look up the bands tour schedule. They were playing in Sacramento tomorrow night, then Eugene, Portland, and Seattle before moving up into Canada. 

Castiel would be gone by the time they crossed the border into Canada, so he decided to act fast, even as the thought of his impending departure gave him a heavy sinking feeling in his gut. 

Message Sent: 11:12PM – Want to go see Dean Winchester in Sacramento tomorrow night? 

Message Received: 11:13PM – YES PLEASE!!!! 

Message Received: 11:13PM – I told you he was pretty. ;) 

Message Sent: 11:13PM – I’ll get tickets right now. Do you think Gabriel would want to go? 

Message Received: 11:13PM – Nah, he’ll be in Austin for work. You’re the best. Love you <3 

Message Sent: 11:14PM – Love you too Anna. 

Castiel buys two tickets quickly and turns off his light, setting his phone on the nightstand. He pulls the covers up to his chin and is still for about four seconds before folding the blankets back down in a huff. He reaches for his phone and begins searching for Dean Winchester and his band-mates on Instagram. He decides to go full-on stalker and even looks up Samuel Winchester. 

Maybe they’re all luddites, or maybe he’s just tired, but here are hardly any interesting results for any of them. Dean Winchester himself hasn’t uploaded a new photo onto Instagram in 32 weeks. Castiel puts his phone down for good and falls asleep to the steady vibrations of that sweet, soulful voice kneading folksy hymns into his subconscious through his headphones, and he dreams in semblance of Dean Winchester. 


	4. Idaho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that love all those mistakes  
> What else can a poor man make  
> I gave up a life of crime  
> I gave it to a friend of mine  
> Something else was on my mind  
> The only ghost I’m haunted by  
> I hear her howlin’ down below  
> [-Idaho](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bW1RvPisg_c&feature=youtu.be)

**Chapter 4 ****  
__**

Castiel woke early, showered, and poked at a few out of place feathers before giving up on that. He paced around his small studio apartment before settling on the couch with a book to pass the time. He made himself lunch and then went for a walk. He checked the clock on the wall and then checked the batteries in the clock because time was moving too slowly. Anna said she would pick him up at 4:00. How was it only 1:30? 

It had only been two days since the last concert, but since then he had allowed himself to be consumed by the hours _and hours_ worth of music Anna had lent him. There were a few songs he had played on repeat until he knew enough of the words to sing along with them in his head. There was one song specifically that Castiel would swear he could actually hear Dean Winchester’s smile as he sang the lyrics _remember the time I told you to take off your clothes, you were naked as a window_ and the sound of it sent a very specific message to his dick. 

One thing that Castiel liked so much, besides the clear romanticism of angels and the beauty of Dean Winchester himself, was how the band - Kevin, Benny, Chuck, Ash, and Jo, he knew now – played their instruments around Dean Winchester’s voice instead of making him sing over them. There were very few songs where it seemed like the instruments and vocals were at odds, like the electric guitar and cymbals were trying to drown out the dark rain-over-gravel voice of Dean Winchester. Castiel didn’t care for those songs. 

Anna picked him up outside of his apartment at 4:00 sharp, just in time to get stuck in a Bay Area traffic jam and make it to Sacramento barely before 9:00. Castiel cursed the regulations the United States had on flying; he would have liked to stretch his wings out all while missing rush hour, but he had always been too lazy to study the 200-page flying manual, and too broke to pay the $1600 for his flight license. Anna was nice enough to not give him a hard time about it, since she could have flown and left him to drive alone. 

Dean Winchester had already taken the stage by the time they got there, but assuming his set list was similar to that of the previous night, he hadn’t even reached the acoustic portion of the show where the rest of the band split from the stage and Dean Winchester would stand alone, belting out a few slow songs, sometimes playing the guitar, sometimes just singing into the silence that he drew from the willing crowd. 

This venue was smaller and standing room only. Folks were crammed as close to the front as possible across the entire length of the stage and at least one hundred people deep. Castiel followed Anna, who was so lovely and polite that she was able to navigate through the crowd, landing them a spot relatively close to the stage before people really began to resist. Castiel heard many groans of frustration behind him. They were probably about fifteen people back from the stage and off slightly to stage right. 

Anna stood in front of him. She was a full head shorter so he could see over her and protect her wings from getting too mussed by the people behind them. He wasn’t as close to the stage as he was before, but he wasn’t so far off to the side and had a better angle on Dean Winchester, allowing him to notice a few of the details he hadn’t before. 

Dean Winchester was bowlegged, for one, which, when coupled with his slight haunch towards the microphone and the way he curled himself over the acoustic guitar - shy but smiling and absolutely fucking perfect – was exactly how he should be. Castiel figured the only way it could be more perfect was to have those bowed legs wrapped around his waist, tangling with his wings while Dean Winchester was naked and writhing underneath him. He reluctantly pushes that thought from his mind. He’d have eons to daydream later. Right now, Dean Winchester, the man who had consumed his every thought for the last 72 hours, was standing _right there_. 

As if they had been waiting for Castiel to arrive, the band leaves Dean Winchester on the stage alone with this guitar, and he strums lightly, talking to the crowd. 

“Thank you all so much for being here.” 

_Loud cheers and applause_

“We’ve been touring together a long time now, the guys and me, and every tour after a couple’a weeks, someone, and it’s different every time, but someone always starts pranking the rest of the guys.” 

_Laughter and ooooohs and one person yells ‘what about Jo!’_

“Christ, Jo, she’s usually the one who starts it.” 

_Muffled laughter_

“With seven people on the bus for hours and hours a day, we get carried away.” 

_More laughter_

“We’ll team up. Jo is really good at stealing our hotel keys. Last tour she snuck into Ash’s room and put Nair in his shampoo bottle.” 

_More laughter_

“The only thing uglier than a mullet is a mullet with bald spots.” 

_Laughs_

“I put a dead fish in Kevin’s suitcase. It stunk up the whole bus and Bobby locked the windows so we were trapped. He was speeding down the interstate at a hundred miles an hour stinking like fish, everyone was yelling, it was hilarious.” 

_Laughs and shrieks and ewwwwwws_

“Kevin got me back by putting itching powder in my socks before a show.” 

_More laughs_

“We give each other a lot of shit, and it’s terrible, but we do it again and again, and we’ll keep doing it, keep touring and playing shows and being on the road for months at a time, putting super glue on beer bottles and putting bubble wrap under rugs and all that because this is the best. Coming out here, playing for y’all…” 

_Hoots and cheers_

“I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t do this. I don’t know what I’d do without these guys who let me drag them all over the world. I love this and I love y’all. I’m a lucky son of a bitch, tell you what…” 

_Shouts and whoops and some We Love You Too!’s_

“Hey, uh, guy in the booth back there, can you bring down the lights a little more? Yeah, nice. Maybe light up the crowd just a little. I wanna see, ah, perfect. There y’all are. Hello.” 

Dean Winchester smiles as the crowd is washed in white light from high up behind the stage. Castiel can feel the heat from the light on his face and feels very exposed. Everyone is shouting or waving their arms. A girl’s voice from the other side of the crowd screams “we love you Dean!” 

“That’s awfully nice. Thank you.” 

C _heers and screams_

He begins to hum and the sound of the audience fades until they’re all beginning to hum along with him. Together they all hum the first verse of a song Castiel barely recognizes before Dean Winchester starts to sing. There is no guitar, just the hum of the crowd as he sings and smiles into the microphone. 

And so it goes, at least five minutes of Dean Winchester singing with the audience as the only musical back up. They’re terribly off key. But Dean Winchester doesn’t seem to mind. He smiles and glances around, the lights still glowing over the crowd. 

His eyes land on Castiel. 

He could swear that Dean Winchester is looking right at him. He could swear that their eyes lock for a moment - a long, beautiful moment - as Castiel’s wings flutter on their own accord for the first time in a very long time. His lungs forget how to work. Castiel thinks maybe his body is beginning to malfunction under the green-eyed gaze, but then Dean Winchester looks away and raises his guitar, plucking at it lightly. When he begins to sing again, Castiel definitely recognizes the song, and when Dean Winchester really does smile when he sings _remember the time I told you to take off your clothes_ his wings flutter against his will once again. 

Dean Winchester may or may not have glanced up at Castiel more than once during that song, but Castiel quickly convinced himself that it was just his brain on hyper drive, working itself toward fantasy wish fulfillment. But still, even once the band had come back to the stage and the tempo picked back up, the lights went back down and the crowd’s sing-along shout and rumble roared back to life, Dean Winchester seemed to look in the direction of Castiel more often than before. He was in the dark, unable to be seen he was sure, but every time Dean Winchester glanced his way he’d get that quintessential flutter in his ribcage. 

The show went on, then the encore, then a second encore because Dean Winchester refused to stop playing. When the stage was empty and the lights came back up, Castiel realized just how crammed in he was. Until now he had forgotten that he was surrounded with tens of people on every side of him. He bit down on the thought that Dean Winchester could have been looking at any of the hundred people behind him and felt his wings sag slightly with disappointment. 

Anna jabbered on about how great of a performer Dean Winchester was as they sat in a dumpy little taco place about a block from the concert venue. Castiel listened intently as his sister was evidently a wealth of knowledge on all things Winchester. They ate their tacos, drank their fruity sodas and walked back towards the car that Anna had expertly parallel parked on the side of the road about four blocks away. 

As they walk past the venue, they also pass a tall black bus with dark, tinted windows. A few guys are loading equipment from a hand trolley into the undercarriage. 

“Oh my gosh!” Anna whispers, “Stay cool, but that’s Chuck Shurley. And that, oh! That’s Benny!” Anna slows their pace, gripping onto Castiel’s arm and then letting go. Castiel tries not to care, but his stomach does a flip anyway, because if these guys are here, then maybe, just maybe, Dean Winchester might be around too. 

They offer Chuck and Benny polite smiles and receive nods from each in return as they keep walking. 

“We should’ve offered to help them.” Castiel says once they’ve passed. He wants to look back and scan for a freckle-faced Adonis, but he resists the urge. 

“Nah, they wouldn’t want us to help. They probably have to worry about someone stowing themselves away under the bus and curling up with one of Dean’s guitars.” 

“Someone like you, for instance?” Castiel jabs. They’re just about to turn the corner when a familiar voice calls to them. 

“Hey! Hey, wait! Yo! _Wings!_ ” 

When they turn and Castiel sees Dean Winchester jogging towards them he worries for a moment that he has finally lost his mind. And when Dean Winchester stops directly in front of them, he figures that if he hasn’t lost his mind yet, he’s about to. 

“Oh my gosh,” Anna’s wings flutter slightly, “you’re Dean _freakin’_ Winchester.” Castiel looks at his sister, who is pie-eyed, and Castiel wonders if he could possibly look half as excited as she does. 

“Uh, yeah. You can just call me Dean, though.” Dean Winchester says, speaking towards Anna, but his eyes are shifted at Castiel. Those _eyes_ , the ones drawing him in, those green, warm, bright eyes that Castiel didn’t think could ever look as beautiful in person as they do in hi-def on his computer screen – they’re only a few feet from him. They are _seeing_ _him_. 

Castiel suddenly feels very aware of how messy his hair is. He fights the urge to reach up and pat the mop down. If he still had his angel mojo he would have just willed it back into place. Damn the Earth’s regulations on angel powers! 

“I’m Anna. This is my brother Castiel.” Castiel tries to smile, but Anna elbows him in the ribs with her introduction and he huffs out a slight wheeze instead. 

“I saw you from the, uh,” he gestures behind towards the venue. Dean’s self-assurance falters slightly, but it doesn’t put Castiel any more at ease. “I couldn’t help but notice, uh, your, uh…” Dean points over Castiel’s shoulder. 

His wings, of course. His ugly, giant, clumsy wings. 

“They’re, uh,” Castiel waits for Dean to say _frightening_ or _gross_ or _weird_ , but instead he says “fucking awesome.” This cannot be right. Castiel glances down to his sister for some sort of resolution, but she looks as confused as he feels. 

“Thank you?” Castiel finally spits out, and even he hears the question in it that makes Dean give him a strange look. “I’m sorry, I just… that’s not the usual reaction.” 

“S’that right?” 

“Yeah, usually when people have something to say about my wings it’s more, um, malicious.” Again, Castiel’s comment elicits a questioning look from Dean. “They frighten people,” Castiel adds. 

“It’s true. He made a little girl cry today at a rest stop on our way here just by standing too close to her. The mom threatened to throw holy water on him. ” Anna chimes in. 

“Thank you, Anna.” Castiel resigns, and Dean laughs, the sound of which Castiel can feel vibrate deep down in his marrow. 

“Well that’s crazy. People are crazy sometimes. And, I mean, your wings are beautiful too,” Dean gestures to Anna and she puffs them up a little in embarrassment and appreciation, “don’t get me wrong. But yours,” he nods to Castiel this time, “they’re, uh, incredible.” Castiel notices that Dean clearly rethought what he was originally going to say, but he wasn’t going to dare to ask what it was. Instead, he focuses on keeping his wings stock still. After years or realizing how people react with even the slightest tremor or fluff of his wings, he pretty much had them under his control at all times. This was the first time, however, that he could recall needing to contain the feeling of pleasure coursing through them. 

Castiel knew he should say something, but he doesn’t, and the three of them stand there until Anna clears her throat. 

“Yeah. Right. So, will I see you guys in Eugene?” Dean asks, running his calloused fingertips through his hair. 

“Oh,” Castiel is surprised, because why would Dean care to know if they’ll be at another show? Do they seem like the diehard fans that follow Dean across state lines? “No, I mean, not likely. We live in San Francisco, so these were close.” 

“These? As in plural? As in you went to the show in San Francisco too?” There is a glimmer of something in Dean’s eyes that Castiel can’t place. 

“Yeah. I practically had to _drag_ him and our brother Gabriel to it. And then _somebody_ stole all my CDs and made me drive _all_ the way to the Sac in rush hour traffic to see you again.” Anna says, pointedly, and Castiel feels the blush consume his face like wildfire. He tries his hardest to say something witty, to recover, to say anything that could help him look like less of an obsessed freak, but Dean beats him to it. 

“The _Sac_? Is that really what people call it here?” Dean makes a face and Castiel actually chuckles. Anna laughs, and Dean adds, “That’s disgusting. Well, if you guys do decide to drive up to Eugene, I’ll leave three tickets at will-call for Gabriel, Anna,” he looks at Castiel, who panics internally, worried that Dean Winchester has forgotten his name,“and Castiel.” Dean was just taking his time to say it. He says it like there’s something else hidden in the letters, a secret code, or the key to one. “You know, just in case.” 

Castiel is sure he imagined the little hum noise that Dean made after saying his name aloud. 

“It was nice meeting you!” Anna hollered after Dean as he walked away, and he turned over his shoulder to nod at her, flashing a smile, and continued on his way back to the bus. “What the hell was that?" 

Castiel can’t say a word, partially because he doesn’t have a good answer for her, and partially because he isn’t sure if he can find his voice. 

All he can do is think about how to convince Anna and Gabriel to come with him because he is definitely going to Eugene and he doesn’t want to go alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Naked as a Window by Josh Ritter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYFKmtIi7Ow&feature=youtu.be)


	5. Bonfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You got a lot of lovers with scar-crossed wrists  
> They keep a candle burning on the corner you kissed  
> One day I might die, until then there's too much to do  
> But I'll keep a bonfire for you  
> [-Bonfire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdsOKdsJukY&feature=youtu.be)

******Chapter 5 ****  
**

It hit Castiel as they crossed the border into Oregon that this could be a huge mistake. How did he really know that there would be tickets waiting for them? Was he dragging his siblings along just to be humiliated when he walks up to the booth and is told there is nothing for him? 

Castiel thinks about everything that could go wrong until his stomach is in knots. The only relief he feels is when he thinks that even if this is a set-up _who cares_ because in a few days he’s going to be on a completely different plane of existence. 

That thought only brings a different onslaught of panic and worry. 

He just can’t win. 

Anna is driving and Gabriel is working tirelessly to get a rise out of her, so Castiel focuses on them as a distraction. 

“Aww, Anna-Whanna, don’t be sad because Dean Weenie thinks your big bro is hotter than you.” 

“He said my wings were beautifultoo you know.” 

Castiel did feel a little guilty about that. Anna had been listening to Dean Winchester for a lot longer than he had. She was a real fan. She was also probably regretting telling the story of meeting Dean Winchester with such enthusiasm to Gabriel, because what she thought was a great story about meeting one of her idols quickly became a story about Dean Winchester making eyes at Castiel, and Gabriel made sure to milk it for all it was worth. 

Listening to Gabriel and Anna talk about it, how Dean stuttered when he tried to speak to Castiel, how he saw him from the stage, how Dean had called his wings _incredible…_ it almost made Castiel believe it. He was almost convinced that maybe it could all be true. 

No. Not possible. This is definitely a set-up. This is definitely an elaborate, expensive set-up to punk the guy with the fucked up wings. 

Eugene is a much bigger town than expected, and with that comes traffic and delays and getting lost so they don’t get to the motel until just after 6:30pm. They only have time to drop their stuff off and turn right back around to head to the venue. Parking was a bitch, but finally they make their way up the sidewalk to the will-call window. Castiel feels sick as Gabriel asks for their tickets. 

“Last name?” the woman behind the glass asked. 

“Milton.” 

“Sorry, there are no tickets under that name.” 

Castiel thinks _I fucking knew it._

“Try looking for Anna, Castiel and Gabriel,” Anna suggests, looking at Castiel sympathetically. “We didn’t give him our last name.” 

“Ah, yes, here’s Anna, Castile, Gabriel. ID’s please.” Castiel is so relieved that he doesn’t even flinch at the mispronunciation of his name. 

“Anna,” Castiel wraps his sister in a hug, an unusual gesture that takes her by surprise, “you’re amazing.” 

“Are we planning on just standing out here hugging each other all night or are we gonna head in and see your boyfriend play the gui-tar?” Gabriel taps his toe and crosses his arms like he’s extraordinarily put out by the whole situation. Castiel knows he’s just irritated because he didn’t get a hug. 

Apparently Dean Winchester and the Bloody Kansas Band play ballroom venues only, and this is another colossal room that Castiel wishes he could spread his wings in, but it’s already packed. They stand near the back of the mass of people who beat them there. Castiel wonders if he should try to find a place where Dean might see him so he’d know that they had made the trip up here, but decides against it. 

The opening band was just alright, but due to the usual ebb and shift in bodies, Castiel, Anna and Gabriel find themselves a bit closer to the stage. They’re surrounded, and this time Castiel doesn’t feel guilty at all about his wings blocking the view. Anna is having a hard time seeing over the people in front of her and Gabriel asks if she wants to get on his shoulders. 

“A Dean Winchester concert is not that kind of concert.” She replied. 

“You could throw your bra at him.” 

“I’m not wearing a bra.” 

“TMI sis.” 

The constant banter between his brother and sister is calming, but when the lights go out Castiel’s anxiety spikes again. 

Dean takes the stage, alone, to wild applause. There is no spotlight, just the black silhouette of the man on the stage. He doesn’t pick up his guitar, just sings into the darkness a repetitive humming and melodic _doo doo doo, doo doo doo._ Once the audience was relatively quiet, save for the random whistles and _I love you Dean!_ ’s, he sang. 

It was another song about angels, and Castiel couldn’t hold back his smile. Gabriel jabbed him with a pointy elbow and Castiel didn’t even care. 

The lights come up, and the roar of the crowd’s excitement is lost on Castiel, because there was Dean smirking into the microphone, looking content in front of the crowd. He picks up his guitar and starts the song over, the rest of the band members coming out one by one to join him. 

The set list is similar to the previous concerts and Dean’s enthusiasm and stage presence is as wild as ever. He seems to really love what he does, but Castiel can’t help but wonder… if he’s that high right now, how low does he get when it’s all over? Like Gabriel, for instance, he had always been all highs or lows and not a lot of in-between. People who thrive on attention and surround themselves with excitement and distractions tend to crash pretty hard when they’re alone. 

Or when they get bored. 

And Castiel was very boring. 

He was also leaving in less than a week. 

Lost in the feeling of already being inadequate to his imaginary boyfriend, Castiel only snaps out of it when another bright light from behind Dean comes on, spotlighting the crowd. Castiel watches as Dean scans the audience, smiling and nodding, acknowledging his fans while softly plucking out a slow riff on his guitar. Castiel feels the heat of the light on his face again, knows he’s visible, and thinks briefly about slinking back into the shadows. 

But then Dean finds him and it’s like he’s the only one in the entire ballroom. 

“Hey.” Dean says into the microphone, directed at him with a nod. Normally being singled out made Castiel exceptionally nervous and he worries that maybe this is the punch line of the joke he’s been expecting. 

But nothing happens besides a quick hello and a smile that is friendly and familiar. 

The show goes on, as it must, and Castiel files away that warm feeling from Dean’s smile for processing later. 

The music picks up, the band rocks out, the encore is all energy and by the end Dean’s dark shirt is even darker with sweat. The band bows together, all smiles, and leaves the stage to wild applause. 

“Holy shit. You weren’t kidding.” Gabriel states, looking at Anna, “I think that Dean Winchester fella might be into our little Cassie.” He slaps Castiel on the back, and Anna frowns slightly. 

“He does that at all his shows. It’s his way of showing his appreciation to the audience.” Castiel deflects, saying _all his shows_ like he’s been seeing him for years, like he has any idea what he’s talking about. Besides, even if he feels like Gabriel might be right, he can’t allow it to show because when he finds out that he is wrong it won’t be as embarrassing. 

“But does he stop every show and say ‘hey’?” Gabriel cocks an eyebrow. 

The building begins to clear out and the trio joins the mass of people trying to funnel out of the double-doors at the back of the ballroom. A voice comes from behind them, someone shoving through the crowd, grabbing onto Castiel’s shoulder. 

“You Cas?” his voice is harsh, making the simple question seem like an accusation. 

“My name is Castiel, so maybe?” 

“Well that’s great, _Cas-tee-el_ cuz Dean wants you backstage.” 

“What?” Castiel cannot even begin to hide the shock lacing that single word. 

“You deaf, kid? I said Dean wants to see you backstage. Bring them two idjits if you want, or don’t, but c’mon.” 

The man turns and Castiel, Anna and Gabriel hurry to follow. 

“ _Cas?_ ” Gabriel whispers in Castiel’s ear, “Sounds like you got yourself a cute little pet name.” 

They follow the man through a heavy red curtain next to the stage and down a short hallway, into a room with large mismatched couches, mirrors on every wall, anda cheap water feature in the corner. Castiel didn’t notice any of this. All he noticed was Dean, who seemed to glow as he stood to greet them. 

“You came!” Excitement was easily recognizable in his voice. It oozed out past the roughness of a tired throat after singing and yelling for so long. “I figured you might.” 

“Yes, thank you for the tickets. That was very generous.” Castiel tries to focus on his own voice and not on the clean, tight black t-shirt that Dean has changed into. “This is my brother, Gabriel, and you’ve met Anna.” Castiel introduces them, but stops and doesn’t introduce Dean. He figures he doesn’t even know the man well enough to introduce them all, like that would somehow lay a claim on Dean. Also, he’s Dean _friggin’_ Winchester, they know who he is. 

“Good to see you again Anna. Gabriel, glad you could make it.” Dean and Gabriel exchange a handshake. “Uh, let me introduce the rest of the guys,” Dean allows Gabriel and Anna to get distracted with other members of the Bloody Kansas Band, a few crew members, their photographer, and a small handful of other folks who all seem to be very comfortable in this room with these people. They are told to help themselves to the mini-fridge and Gabriel immediately goes for a beer and the candy bowl. Anna looks awestruck as she takes a seat next to Benny, who immediately engages her in a conversation with a warm smile and a tip of his hat. 

Dean returns to Castiel’s side once everyone else is thoroughly preoccupied. 

“Cas,” he offers a hand for a handshake and Castiel takes it, allowing it to linger. Dean doesn’t pull away. 

“Are you calling me that because you can’t actually remember my name?” 

“What? No! Castiel. Cas- _tee_ -el. See?” a worried look crosses his face when Castiel doesn’t say anything in response. “That’s right, right? I didn’t just make myself out to be a huge douche, did I?” 

“No. I mean, that’s my name. You got it right.” 

“Phewf. Good.” Dean finally lets go of Castiel’s hand. “You want a drink?” 

“What are you drinking?” Castiel asks, getting a whiff of something strong in Dean’s cup. He doesn’t answer, and instead turns and pours Castiel a drink out of a small clear bottle without a label. Dean hands it to him, and they clink the plastic cups together and Castiel realizes that he’s been staring at Dean the whole time. He also realizes that Dean is staring back. 

Whatever Dean poured him was strong enough to slap him from his stupor immediately. 

“Holy shit. What in the hell is this?” Castiel sputters, glaring at the drink as Dean huffs out a laugh. 

“I call it the Bobby Special. He won’t tell me what’s in it, but I’m pretty sure its moonshine and antifreeze.” 

“Well, cheers to Bobby then,” and Castiel raises his cup with a wince. Dean laughs again, and Castiel decides that it’s his favorite thing in the world. “I’m almost afraid to ask who Bobby is.” Dean takes a seat on a lumpy orange sofa with a soft sigh. Castiel realizes he must be exhausted after the performance he just gave. Dean motions for Castiel to sit, and he is acutely aware of Dean’s gaze as he situates his wings and takes a seat. It’s not a large couch, and his wings take up enough space that he’s sitting closer to Dean that he would have normally. Dean grins. 

“You met Bobby. He’s the one I sent to fetch ya.” 

“Ah, yes. He was quite charming. What did he call us? Idjits?” 

“It’s a term of endearment, don’t worry. I’ve known Bobby a long time. He’s really a big softy. Like a huggable, shotgun-shooting teddy bear.” 

Castiel takes another sip of the amber colored booze in his glass. Even though he’s expecting the taste, it still burns, possibly stripping him of some taste buds as it slides down his throat. He tries not to flinch, but doesn’t succeed. 

“You don’t have to drink that, you know. We’ve got like, juice boxes or something if you’d rather have one of those.” Dean chides with a mischievous squint of his eyes. 

“Bite me.” Castiel growls and knocks back the rest of the drink thinking _don’t choke, for the love of God don’t die in front of Dean Wincheste_ r. 

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean laughs and downs the rest of his own drink, hardly making a face but letting out a _whoop!_ after he swallows. Dean reaches around the arm of the couch he’s leaning against and pulls two beers out of the mini fridge, popping the top off of one before passing it to Castiel, then opening his own and taking a drink. “So,” he swallows and Castiel watches his Adam’s apple bob up and down, “tell me about yourself.” 

“There’s not really much to say.” 

“I find that very hard to believe. You’re an angel, for cryin’ out loud.” 

“That’s true, but I can assure you that being an angel isn’t as interesting as your songs make it out to be. The regulations that are put on angels are a little stifling, and there’s a great deal more paperwork. I mean, I work in customer service and live in a studio apartment. It isn’t glamorous.” 

“Maybe the next song I write should be about the queue of pissed off angels waiting in line at the DMV.” Dean snickers. 

“That would be very depressing. Please don’t.” 

“I’m not looking for glamorous anyway, Cas. I don’t want to know about angels. I want to know about _you._ ” Dean takes another drink. “I know that what I write isn’t quite, uh, realistic. But it’s the story, you know? It’s the ideal, something comforting, or whatever.” 

“Dean I didn’t mean to insult your songwriting or…” Castiel feels like an asshole but Dean interrupts him. 

“Oh I know. You didn’t. I was seven years old when the angels started to fall, and I guess I always sorta romanticized the idea and what it meant. It seemed like such a good story, you know? These awesome celestial beings want to leave heaven and be here, with us, with humanity... My mom had died and it kept hope alive for a while. Then I started reading a lot about angels and kinda like you said, it wasn’t as magical as I always thought. It was actually really disappointing, but I couldn’t bring myself to get over that kind of idyllic angelic whatever-it-was I had created in my head.” 

Castiel nods, trying desperately to follow along with the story Dean is telling but getting distracted repeatedly by the way Dean’s lips move when he speaks. 

“The first time I met an angel was such a big deal. I thought he looked so cool with his wings and everything. They were big, I mean, not as big as yours, but they seemed real big because I was just a kid, it was awesome.” Dean keeps talking, but Castiel tunes out momentarily. 

This isn’t the first time that Dean has mentioned his wings, but the way it is casually slipped into his statement, _not as big as yours_ , without the bite of judgment or the condescending tone with which he’s used to hearing his wings mentioned. 

Dean wasn’t put off by Castiel’s wings. Actually, as it seemed, Castiel was more distracted by Dean’s lips than Dean was of his wings. They were slightly chapped and slick with beer and when Dean licked his lips Castiel had to fight his entire body’s desire to possess them. 

“…The guy was a dick though.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Dude are you even listening? 

“What? Yes. Of-of course I’m listening. What was his name?” 

“Zachariah. Bald, older guy. Kinda had the crazy eyes like he wanted to kidnap me.” 

“I know Zachariah. He was a close friend of my brother.” 

“That guy over there?” Dean points to Gabriel, who has mowed his way halfway through the candy bowl and was currently sucking suggestively on a Blow Pop while talking to Jo. “I can’t see him being friends with that guy.” 

“No, our other brother. He’s quite a bit older than us, and, uh, an archangel.” 

“What? Really? Well damn Cas, that’s somethin’. What’s it like having an archangel for a brother?” 

Gabriel wanders over and interrupts before Castiel can answer, which is fine, because he’s not really sure how to answer that question anyway. 

“Which brother are you talking about?” Gabriel walks over, a glass of white wine in one hand, soggy Blow Pop in the other. He plops himself on the couch snuggly between Castiel and Dean with an _oompf!_ Jo falls into his lap immediately. 

“Dean, I love it when you bring new people to the party!” the girl takes the wine from Gabriel’s hand and sips at it, scrunching her nose. She looks like the kind of girl who would rather drink a beer to prove herself to the boys. Castiel decides that he likes her. 

“Jo, this is Cas, Cas- Jo, Bobby’s daughter, Ash’s sister, which practically makes her my sister so you,” Dean points at Gabriel’s face, “better watch yourself.” 

“Yessir. We’ll behave, won’t we Josie baby? So, which brother were you talking about, hmm? The Big Bag of Dicks or the Bigger Bag of Dicks?” 

“Gabriel didn’t get on well with either of our older brothers…” Castiel tries to explain, interrupted by Gabriel almost immediately. 

“Because they’re dicks.” 

“We get the point, Gabriel.” 

Dean is smiling, rolling his empty beer bottle absentmindedly between his hands, the silver ring on his middle finger clinking dully as he does so. 

They all jump in their seats when music begins to blare through the speakers. It’s loud, and Castiel thinks he recognizes it as Led Zeppelin, but he’s not sure. He’s never been good with stuff like that. His eyes happen upon Dean’s, who is looking at him behind Gabriel’s head. He nods and raises his eyebrows toward the door. Castiel nods and follows Dean’s lead, getting up without a word to Gabriel or Jo. 

“Sorry, it just got so loud in there, and I wanna talk to you.” Dean says, leading them down a short hallway to a door that leads outside. The cold February air is wet like it just finished raining. A big guy with a black sweatshirt opens the door to what Castiel assumes is Dean’s tour bus which is parked precariously close to the building. He follows Dean on. “Make yourself at home.” 

“Shit, I didn’t realize how big these things are.” Castiel already has that fuzzy feeling of alcohol in his limbs as Dean passes him yet another beer, seemingly pulled from nowhere. Castiel can see a small group of people standing around in the street on the other side of the bus, with phones and markers in hand, waiting for a glimpse of Dean Winchester. 

“Yeah it feels big now, but add five guys, a girl and a surly old hillbilly plus whoever else we can cram in here, trust me, it gets real small real quick.” 

“I can imagine.” 

“So, tell me about your brothers,” Dean settles onto one of the plush bench-seat couches and pulls Castiel down with him by the arm, slowly, giving him time to adjust his wings. It doesn’t go unnoticed how close they are. Castiel can feel the heat of Dean’s thigh against his. 

“Ah, well. Yes. Honestly Dean,” saying his name, Castiel feels like he’s just put a sugar tab on his tongue. It’s sweet and gritty, he kind of loves it. “We don’t talk about them much, because they’re part of the reason why we all left. They made it very difficult to stay.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“They started the war.” Castiel says, as casually as possible. 

“Uh, they what now?” 

“My brothers, Michael and Lucifer, they started the war. I don’t believe they ever meant to, but they’re both very stubborn, so things got out of hand very quickly. And now that Lucifer has been, well, you know, banished to hell and all, Michael has decided to wage war against Raphael and his angels instead. I think Michael is just looking for someone to lead who look up to him since we never did… and Gabriel thinks that he’s just…” 

“A dick?” Dean finishes Castiel’s sentence. 

“Precisely.” 

It has been long enough that the sting usually left in his chest at the sound of his brothers’ names has faded. It’s now just a slow ache that spreads, but dissipates as soon as he hears Dean’s voice. 

“So, wait, your brothers are Michael and Lucifer? _The_ Michael and Lucifer?” 

“Gabriel is an archangel as well, on our father’s side.” 

“Gabriel, as in…” 

“Yes, that’s the one.” 

“Well shit.” Dean takes a long pull at his beer. He looks to be thinking about this new information, and Castiel regrets sharing all of this with Dean, dumping his family drama on him, but he doesn’t have long to dwell as Dean begins to laugh. “Somehow I can’t imagine that guy in there telling a virgin she’s got a bun in the oven without making some kind of joke out of it.” 

“I believe he did it in sing-song.” Castiel is serious, and it makes Dean laugh harder. Castiel can’t help but smile at the beautiful man in front of him. 

“Now _that_ I can believe. Jeeze, Cas, I thought my family was fucked up, but I think yours takes the cake.” 

“I don’t know your family, but I’m willing to bet that is a fair assessment. We are in fact pretty fucked up.” 

“Wait, I thought archangels weren’t allowed on Earth?” 

“Gabriel made a very compelling argument to the Committee.” 

“I would have _loved_ to hear that.” 

“It was pretty brilliant. You’ll have to ask him for the abridged version sometime.” 

“Oh, yeah? You think I’ll be able to? You think we’re going to be seeing much more of each other?” Dean says a little presumptuously. Castiel had almost forgotten that he’s not just meeting a new friend or out on a first date… he’s talking to Dean _freakin’_ Winchester, in his tour bus, no less. He forgets for a moment that in five days time he’ll disappear off the face of this planet. He forgets that his family is the reason so many angels have been killed. He forgets about that constant sick twinge in his gut. Instead, he shyly picks at the label on his beer bottle, briefly lost in thought. When he looks up, however, Dean is smiling. He wishes more than anything that there was time for Dean to get to know all of the bullshit Castiel goes through for his family. 

“Oh, uh, I- umm…” 

“Dude, relax. I’m just- I mean, I’d like to see more of you, if, you know, that’s alright with you.” 

Castiel ponders this for a moment. “Can I ask why?” 

“Why not?” 

“Because you hardly know me, and what you do know isn’t great.” 

“What, like that you’re from a giant family of famous archangels and your brother is the friggin’ devil?” 

“For starters.” 

Dean shrugs. “So what?” 

“But,” 

“Cas,” Dean sets his bottle down and leans toward Castiel, who only grips onto his bottle tighter. “You’re hot. You’re weird. You’re an angel. It’s all very distracting. For me, that’s enough to know to know I want to know you better, if that makes any sense at all.” 

“Distracting?” 

“Shit. Yes. I haven’t been able to go ten minutes without you crossing my mind since I saw you in Sacramento. It’s goddamn frustrating.” 

Castiel finds himself staring at the man in front of him, and Dean stares right back, occasionally breaking their eye contact to glance down at Castiel’s lips. 

Shit. 

The moment is interrupted by Castiel’s cell phone vibrating violently in his pocket. 

“Shit,” he digs it out, “it’s Anna. Hold that thought, Dean. Hello? Anna?” Castiel can’t seem to break his stare at Dean, and Dean just grins and stares back. 

“Castiel! _Where are you?”_

“Why?” 

“Are you off having sex with Dean Winchester?” she giggles. 

“What? No, Anna I’m not having…” Dean, who clearly heard Anna’s voice through the phone, is shaking with silent laughter. “No. Anna, what do you want?” 

“Touchy. I just wanted to let you know that they came and cleared us all of the building and we’re,” _knock knock knock knock_ “all coming to the bus.” 

“God dammit. Can’t get a moment of peace around here,” Dean mutters, irritated, as the door opens and everyone files in with a rush of noise and excitement. At least fifteen people are now crowded on the bus. Anna collapses on the other side of Dean. 

“Just wanted to warn you in case you weren’t _decent._ ” She still has the phone against her ear. 

“Anna how drunk are you?” Castiel finds himself leaning over, into Dean, to sniff out his sister who reeks of alcohol. How she managed to get that drunk that fast he can’t quite figure out. 

“Yes. Hello Kevin!” she practically squeals, and Kevin Tran sits next to her, scooting her closer to Dean and Dean closer to Castiel and Castiel into the cushion, his wings lifting and draping themselves over the arm of the sofa-couch. Dean chuckles at how put-out Castiel looks and leans back, stretching his arms around Castiel and Anna, resting his elbows on the backrest. 

“This is cozy.” He says, smug. Castiel feels himself glare, embarrassed at how much space his wings are taking up. Dean must be able to tell, because he smirks, then leans over to Castiel, whispering in his ear. “Hey, are you gonna be in Portland tomorrow night?” 

“We can be.” Castiel doesn’t know what possessed him to say that. _They can be?_ Really? They haven’t talked about it, but the pull he feels toward Dean doesn’t seem to offer any other options. 

“Good,” is all he says. This close to Dean, Castiel can see those freckles in detail. He could count them if he really wanted to. He would start with the ones at the top of his cheek bones and work his way down, then over the bridge of his nose, around his eyes, down his neck while slowly unbuttoning his shirt… 

Wait, what were we talking about? Freckles? 

Ah, yes, Dean’s freckles. Castiel would like to spend days counting and re-counting them just to make sure he got it right. 

Maybe he’d kiss them as he went, just to be extra thorough. 

Castiel realizes that he’s probably been staring at Dean for longer than socially appropriate. Dean doesn’t seem to mind. Actually, Dean seems to be staring right back at Castiel with a very similar expression on his face. 

Dean steps off the bus for a few minutes with Kevin and Ash and Chuck to sign some autographs and take pictures with the group of fans who had been very patiently waiting outside. Castiel spends that time laughing at Anna who is laughing at a story Benny is telling her. The party dies down around one o’clock when Bobby boards the bus and starts yelling at everyone and kicking people off. 

“Time for us to hit the road. Bobby likes to drive at night so we don’t see much traffic.” Dean walks off the bus with Castiel. Anna and Gabriel are waiting off to the side, but he can feel their stares boring into his back. “I’ll make sure there’s three more tickets at will-call tomorrow night.” 

“You don’t have to do that, we can buy them.” 

“Shut up Cas. I’ll see you later?” 

“Yes. Goodnight Dean.” 

“’Night Cas.” Dean smiles, and lingers, and then turns to leave, and then turns back and quickly leans in to peck Castiel on the cheek before turning away once again and getting back on the bus. 

Castiel doesn’t look back at the bus as he walks to meet his brother and sister. He doesn’t look at them either. He just looks at the cracked sidewalk and smiles as they all walk back to the car together. 

“Yuck. I’m driving,” Gabriel announces, “seeing how Anna is shitfaced and _Cas_ is smitten stupid. You fools are going to be the death of me.” 

“Am not!” Anna protests. Castiel can’t, because he is indeed a smitten kitten. 

“And _Cas_ can drive us to Portland tomorrow.” Castiel gives his brother a questioning look, “Oh please bro, I know that look. What do you think kids, road trip?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [In the Dark by Josh Ritter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rz16SPjmKjs&feature=youtu.be)


	6. Snow is Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were beautiful when I first saw your feathers and confectionery airs  
> Like the Earth had up and promised you the stars but you really didn't care  
> I sang in exultation, I pulled the stops - you always looked a little bored  
> But I'm singing for the love of it - have mercy on the man who sings to be adored  
> [-Snow is Gone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3cuSXZOjQI&feature=youtu.be)

**Chapter 6**  
__

It wasn’t just the wings anymore, although Dean couldn’t help but wonder what they felt like. He’d only touched one other angel’s wings before. It was intense, to say the least, and he hadn’t even been interested in the guy. He just happened to brush up against him at a show once and ended up dragging him backstage for a hot n’ heavy make out session, hands gripping onto the feathers like his life depended on it. They were soft. Hot. They felt _strong_. Not strong for feathers, but just pure strength. He figured that an angel must have strong feathers, seeing how they have to fly in and out of different dimensional planes. But still, it was one thing to consider their strength in the abstract and an entirely different matter to feel the strength of an angel’s feathers with his own hands. 

Cas’ wings, though. God, they were _huge_. They could wrap around Dean and cover him head to toe. And they were _black_. There was nothing cooler than that. 

Except maybe the guy the wings were attached to. He wasn’t lying when he said that Cas was hot and weird, but that didn’t even begin to scratch the surface. He was shy but trying desperately not to be; an introvert, maybe because he grew up with such a boisterous family? Cas was hot as _hell_. He was just a bit shorter than Dean, and definitely leaner, but they were similar in size if you took the wings out of the equation. 

Cas had one of the most expressive faces Dean had ever seen, despite resting in a non-threatening scowl most of the time. 

What Dean noticed the most, besides the wings, was Cas’ mouth. Pink, chapped, full lips set in a slight frown. He was unintentionally seductive when he licked his lips, maybe a little insecure when he chewed at them, adorable when he quirked them up in a smirk - but when he smiled, god, damn, _when he smiled_. 

Dean knew, from the moment he saw him – literally standing out in the crowd, when his heart practically stopped at the beauty of the man – that he _must_ have him. 

Dean Winchester wasn’t a sap or a sucker, but he knew when he was falling in love. 

Dean fell in love a lot, though, and fast. He couldn’t deny that. He had always been one to feel things quickly and deeply. It was a defense mechanism he’d developed due to a life in constant motion. If he didn’t feel things quickly he wouldn’t have the chance to feel them at all. 

Like when he met Lisa, he loved her almost immediately. She clearly hadn’t felt the same way. 

She was married now, to her bassist. They had a son together. They seemed happy. 

Dean was happy too, but to him, happy was just mediocre. He wanted _bliss._ He wanted _euphoria._

High standards not withholding, he felt that, once again, he had accidentally fallen in love. 

With an actual angel, nonetheless. That is fucking _awesome._

He tried to fall asleep in the seat next to Bobby while he drove, but his mind was too busy. This was such a short trip anyway. Most of the guys were up reading or watching TV. Only Kevin was asleep, sprawled out on a couch. He was like Sammy that way. Those kids could sleep anywhere. 

Dean tried to clear his mind by focusing on the lights of the freeway. 

“You up?” Bobby grumbled. 

“Yeah.” 

“We’re almost there. We’ll get checked into the hotel and you’ll need to get some beauty sleep.” 

“Nah, I’m too amped to sleep.” 

“’Cause of the tour or the boy?” 

“Mmm, bit of both,” Dean grins. 

“He seems a little off, don’t he?” 

“He’s an angel. I think they’re all a little off.” 

“His brother is a nightmare.” 

“Oh, he didn’t seem that bad. Jo seemed to like him.” Dean says to get a rise out of him. 

“Good god, boy, don’t say shit like that. I should thump you. The sister’s real pretty.” Dean nods, because yes she is, but, “she ain’t as pretty as your boy, I reckon.” 

“You said it.” Dean agrees and yawns. 

“They gonna be at the show tonight?” Bobby gracefully pulls the huge bus into the parking lot of the hotel, and Dean braces himself for what always happens when they’re all exhausted and arrive at their destination. “ALRIGHT YA IDJITS GET YOUR SHIT AN’ GET OUTTA MY SIGHT!” Bobby shouts, to groans, grunts and _fuck off_ s. 

“Yeah, they’ll be there. Three tickets at will-call?” 

“You got it boss.” Bobby shakes his head. “Now get.” 

They check in and head to their respective rooms. Dean doesn’t even brush his teeth, the just strips off his pants and shirt and falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. Dean sleeps soundly until he’s awoken by a light knock on his door. It’s still dark out. 

“What?” he irritably shouts, half muffled by the pillow. 

“Dean? Is that you?” _That voice._ Dean knows that voice. 

“Cas?” he gets up and shuffles across the carpet to the door in his boxers. When he opens the door, there is Cas, awkward and gorgeous as ever. 

“Hello Dean. I knew I could find you.” Cas practically floats across the threshold and cradles Dean’s jaw in his hand, brushing his lips with his thumbs. “I had to come find you.” 

“I can’t- I don’t believe this Cas. I-I’ve been thinking about you.” 

“I’ve been thinking about you too, Dean Winchester.” Cas shoves Dean into the room and slams the door closed without moving a muscle. All Dean can say is _whoa_ before he’s grabbed, spun and shoved against the door, nose-to-nose with the angel. Cas starts licking at Dean’s lips, trying to gain access, keeping him pinned against the door. 

“ _Shit!”_ Dean gasps when a warm, firm thigh is wedged between his legs, applying the perfect amount of pressure and friction. Cas tangles his fingers in Dean’s hair and allows Dean to grind against his leg. It’s been so long since Dean has done this. It feels so good. 

It feels so different. 

It is different. Something’s not quite right. 

“Cas, where did your wings go?” 

“What wings?” 

“What do you mean _what wings_? Your fucking humongous beautiful black angel wings, Cas. _Fuck_ that feels…” Dean tries to stop grinding on Cas’ thigh so he can focus, but Cas has him by the hips and is pressing him down, moving him against his thigh with some freaky kind of angel strength. Helpless, breathy sounds escape him, and in between the profanities he keeps asking where Castiel’s wings are. 

Dean is about two thrusts away from ruining Cas’ jeans when Cas stills all movement and looks Dean in the eyes. 

“Why do you keep going on about my _wings_ , Dean Winchester?” the man stares, face unflinching as Dean pants, trying to find an answer while his brain has turned to mush and all of his blood is coiled in his cock. 

“I, _uhh_ , don’t – h _mmmpf!”_ Dean knocks his head back against the door as Cas shoves his thigh up, reigniting the desire for some kind of release, “fuck Cas I don’t know, I just like ‘em.” 

“I cut them off.” 

“You _what?!_ ” he whimpers when Cas resumes manhandling Dean, moving him against his thigh with slow and deliberate motions. “Wh-why would _nnghhh!_ you do _nnngh!_ that? _Unnnhh!_ ” 

“Because I fell for you, Dean Winchester.” 

Dean comes in his boxers against Castiel’s leg, and Castiel gently lowers Dean to the floor, slumped against the door. Cas turns around and Dean sees two long, brutal gashes starting at Cas’ shoulders, black feathers sticking to the drying blood against the torn fabric of his shirt. 

“ _No!_ ” 

Dean shouts, startling himself into consciousness. 

He sits up, heart racing, to find himself still in bed and able to draw two conclusions quickly; one, it is in fact still dark out and two, he did in fact come in his boxers. 

“Son of a bitch.” He pulls at the slimy fabric. It’s still warm, sticky against his leg. It’s been a long time since Dean’s last wet dream, and this one wasn’t even that interesting. He was humping a guy’s leg, for Christ’s sake. 

What was interesting was that Cas had cut off his wings. Why would he do that? 

“He wouldn’t.” Dean says, aloud. No, he wouldn’t do that. Dean could tell that Cas was a little self-conscious about his wings, but he would never actually cut them off, would he? What happens to an angel if they’ve lopped off their wings? And what does Dean care anyway? He barely knows the guy. 

_I fell for you, Dean Winchester._

Fuck. He wants to talk to Cas right _now_. Where is he? Would he even be awake? Were his wings alright? Why didn’t he get his phone number? That was stupid. He’d get it tonight. _I hope he’s okay_. Of course he’s okay, he’s a frickin’ angel. 

Dean yanks off his boxers, tossing them to the floor before dropping his head back down, sinking into the too-soft hotel pillow. He focuses on the blinking light of the smoke detector until his eyes can’t stay open and sleep finally finds him again. 


	7. Bandits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say those two won't get far  
> In the backseat of a car  
> But we pulled off the interstate  
> And made out like bandits babe  
> [-Bandits](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RsLwAkyYQeo&feature=youtu.be)

**Chapter 7**  
__

Castiel was lucky to have a brother successful enough to fund their impromptu trip up the west coast. Being an archangel (or _the_ archangel as Gabriel always likes to remind them since he’s the one-and-only allowed on Earth) gave him plenty of flexibility with his job in the Department of Angelic Resources for the federal government and, seeing how this was his kid siblings’ last hoo-rah on Earth, he had decided to take off the rest of the week. Castiel could never figure out how someone like Gabriel had gotten himself into a position that required being mature and responsible, but he seemed to have enough pull within his department to do whatever he liked, including taking a week off at a moment’s notice. 

Unfortunately, that same brother had a sick and cheap sense of humor, paying for only one room in the seediest motel he could find. This meant that Castiel and Gabriel would share one bed, while Anna got one to herself. In this particular room, the bathroom door also didn’t close all the way, meaning there was no privacy to do the only thing that Castiel could think to do after his evening with Dean Winchester. 

The next morning Castiel immediately felt gross for waking up with a boner next to his brother. He didn’t remember having any dreams that night, but the first thought in his cloudy mind as he hovered between asleep and awake was of Dean, and that uncomfortable pressure raged in his groin even more. 

He decided to get up and take a shower. Maybe, if he was quiet… 

“No jerking off in there, little bro.” Gabriel mumbled from under the blankets like he was a fucking mind reader. 

“Gross.” Anna whined into her own pillow. 

“I hate you both.” Castiel turned and walked into the grimy bathroom. The warped door scraped the laminate floor and refused to close the last five inches. The shower curtain was torn and moldy at the bottom. Even with the images of Dean that had been mulling around in his mind, this bathroom was so gross that he wouldn’t have been able to jerk off anyway. 

They were packed, checked out and on their way to breakfast by ten o’clock. They stopped at a diner where Gabriel ordered pancakes drowning in maple syrup. Anna had French toast and fruit. Castiel had two cups of coffee and thought about how inappropriate it might be to masturbate in the bathroom of a Denny’s. 

The drive to Portland was quick, only a few hours spent on the road, and they left at just the right time so they didn’t hit any traffic. Portland seemed to be an easy city to lose oneself in, and once they checked into another sketchy motel (albeit, not as disgusting as the one in Eugene), they had the rest of the afternoon to explore downtown. 

Most of the exploration was done at Powell’s Books, each of them getting so lost in the stacks and rooms that they actually had to call each other to meet up after two hours of wandering. Anna lost herself in the young adult section and lamented that she may never get a chance to read the _Fearless_ series that a young clerk had recommended. 

Gabriel had found the NIV Teen Study Bible and decided to take it upon himself to make corrections in red ink before putting it back on the shelf. He also found a self-help book titled “Is God in Your Bedroom: Volume 1 - Discovering the Joys of Sanctioned Sexuality” that he offered to buy for Castiel, who politely declined. 

Castiel had roamed each room, thumbing through a few books, breathing in the aroma of old paper and dusty shelves. He had developed a habit of choosing books by feeling the pages as he flips them. If they’re stiff and rough he’ll put the book back. If they’re soft and pliable he’ll take a closer look at the content, but usually the pages were enough to persuade him to read it. 

When he first got to Earth he wanted to read every book ever written, but soon he realized how many shitty books were out there, so he had to adapt. This new method of fondling the pages seemed to work, and he had picked out many of his favorites that way. 

His wings drooped slightly with the realization that he’d probably never get to read any of his favorites again. 

To distract himself he put his method into practice, and soon he stumbled upon a book that definitely caught his interest. It was a used paperback, the spine cracked in so many places that he couldn’t read the title or author’s name. As he pulled it from the shelf, the cover was soft and frayed at the corners, which was a good start. The pages were _perfect_ ; velvety, delicate, and thin. The book was so worn in that it would lay open on any page without needing to be held. Then, he read the synopsis on the back: 

_Henry Bright has newly returned to West Virginia from the battlefields of the First World War. Grief-struck by the death of his young wife and unsure of how to care for the infant son she left behind, Bright is soon confronted by the destruction of the only home he’s ever known. His hopes for safety rest with the angel who has followed him to Appalachia from the trenches of France and who now promises to protect him and his son. Haunted by the abiding nightmare of his experiences in the war and shadowed by his dead wife’s father, the Colonel, and his two brutal sons, Bright—along with his newborn—makes his way through a ravaged landscape toward an uncertain salvation._

Castiel knew someone who might appreciate this book. 

The trio finally pried themselves away from Powell’s and found some food at a small café before heading to the concert venue, with the paperback for Dean tucked away in Castiel’s coat pocket. 

They were actually early to the show this time, but Castiel still refused to stand at the front. It would be too awkward, and with enough persistence he convinced them that he was fine sitting at one of the tall tables in the back. Anna stayed at the front, pressed against the stage and ready to eye-flirt with Kevin or Benny or whoever it was that she was lusting after now that Castiel had officially called _dibs_ on Dean. Gabriel followed Castiel to the bar and then to an empty table. 

The venue filled slowly and their surroundings became louder and louder as Gabriel explained exactly how many errors he found in the bible back at Powell’s. 

“I’m thinking about starting my own department dedicated to restoring historical and biblical texts to their original meanings.” 

“That’s actually a really good idea. With access angels who were actually there, it’d make sense to correct the hundreds of years worth of inaccuracies and myths that are taken as fact.” 

“That’s just it though, these idiots are so comfortable believing the lies that it’s impossible to change. You touch the words of the bible and suddenly you’re creating a new religion. It’s a joke.” 

“Well, the scribes were meant to make it a better story. God was pretty dry, so I’m sure they took certain liberties to make the story more interesting...” Castiel was cut off by a harsh, frustrated laugh. 

“’ _Certain liberties_?’ Bitch please, those dicks did more than _embellish_ the word of God. They carved through it with a fucking chainsaw. ‘No one whose testicles are crushed or whose penis is cut off shall be admitted to the assembly of the lord.’ Now why the fuck would God give two shits about that? If anything, bring those dudes on in, they fucking deserve it.” After a brief pause to swallow down some of his annoyance with his drink, and he continued “and don’t even get me fucking started on Metatron.” 

It was strange to see Gabriel taking something so seriously. Castiel thought that maybe this is why he had gotten so far in his current department. Gabriel didn’t have what some might call work ethic but he was passionate about truth and he sure as hell was passionate about home, Heaven, and the war. 

Castiel was just a cherub when the war began, Michael, Lucifer and Gabriel all centuries older than he and Anna. He didn’t remember much of the beginning, but as he grew he heard stories. The stories always had a very clear, defined line between the Good and the Evil. 

Gabriel always knew there was more to it than that, and he hated conflict and loved his brothers so he rarely brought it up. Instead he buried his frustration with alternating layers of sarcasm and sugar. 

The lights dimmed and their conversation was cut short. It would have been disappointing because it was a rare occasion to get Gabriel talking about anything besides women and reality TV with such enthusiasm, but the lights going down meant that Castiel was that much closer to seeing Dean, so he let it go. 

The opening band was the same as the previous nights, and Castiel still didn’t like them any better than he had that first night. They were too raucous, too not-Dean, and they played the same seven songs every night. Even the way the band members interacted with each other was the same. Didn’t they get bored of themselves? 

Dean kept a similar set list every night, but his opening song was always different, and the songs he sang during his solo set were always new, as if he was deciding what to play as he went. Tonight, he started with a cover of Moon River that gave Castiel goose bumps. 

Four concerts in one week, and Castiel was convinced that he wouldn’t ever tire of watching Dean perform. Yes, the songs and the banter were similar every night, but the regard for what he was doing was unmistakable. Dean took nothing for granted on stage; whether it was the reaction of the audience, turning mistakes into jokes or his smirk after finding Castiel in the crowd. 

Even if he hadn’t been in love with the lead singer Castiel knew he would have been a fan of the band anyway. 

Wait. What? 

Well, shit. Castiel was in love. 

And with impeccable timing, too. 

He took a breath and rested his forehead on the table that was tacky with beer and god knows what else. _Whyyyyyy???_ he whined to himself before feeling a strong hand grab and shake his shoulder. 

The show wasn’t even over yet, but Bobby found them at their table. 

“Well come on you two. And hey, how’s about instead of makin’ me come get you, you just wait by the stage after the show and get in yourself. I got plenty of other crap to do than to chase around a coupla boy toys. Where’s the redhead?” 

“Front row, probably getting her eye-bang on with the big one or the Asian one, we’re not sure.” 

“Jesus, Gabriel…” Castiel slides from the stool and shoots a quick text to Anna letting her know where they were and where to meet. He tries not to bump into too many people as he walks, but there’s so much movement that it happens regardless. 

“You fuckin’ angels are going to be the death of me.” Bobby turns and they follow him behind a heavy red curtain. This room is larger, and there are already a few folks hanging around, some familiar faces and a few new ones. Jo sees Gabriel right away and bounces over. She only plays the fiddle in a few songs and evidently hangs out back here with Bobby when she’s not on stage. 

“Gabby!” She coos and punches him in the arm. 

“ _Gabby?”_ Castiel mocks. 

“Shut it _Cas_. Joanna, you look good enough to eat.” Gabriel turns all of his attention to the bubbly blond and faux-growls at her. She growls back and Castiel turns away before witnessing his brother start feeling up the girl in front of her father. Bobby looks like he’s about ready to shoot someone. 

“So, um, Bobby, how did you meet Dean? He mentioned that you go way back.” 

“Hmm,” Bobby snorts, but after a moment he takes his eyes off of his daughter, who is now being licked by an archangel, and says, “I knew his dad. Dean did some odd jobs for me when he was a kid. I taught him how to work on cars. Helped him pick out his first guitar.” Castiel can hear a smidgen of pride in his voice when Bobby speaks of Dean. “I never had kids of my own, got lucky marryin’ Ash n’ Jo’s mama, and Dean n’ Sammy are like my own kin. Even if I woulda had my own I couldn’t a loved ‘em any more than I love those four knuckleheads. I always thought I’d have the wife and kids and white picket fence around the salvage yard but after my first wife died and I was on the wrong side of forty... sometimes things change. But I’m a lucky man. Dean n’ the rest of ‘em, they’re my family. Family don’t end with blood, you know.” Bobby grumbles low and looks at the floor. 

“That’s a beautiful sentiment.” Despite how brash Bobby seems, Castiel can see what Dean meant when he said he was a softy. 

“Glad you see it that way. I’ve never been too sure about you angels.” Bobby pulls two beers out of an ice bucket, cracks them open with a hidden bottle opener under the counter without looking, a clear sign that he’s been back here many times. 

“May I ask why? I mean, besides the obvious,” he gestures towards Gabriel and Jo. Bobby actually smirks. The music of the encore stops and the crowd gets loud. 

“I suppose it’s ‘cause they’ve never given me a reason to be. And he ain’t helpin’ your case any.” Bobby points a finger at Gabriel. “Don’t you give me any more reasons to question the motives of angels.” 

Castiel is still trying to decipher what Bobby means by that when there’s a commotion towards the door and the band files in, loud and laughing. 

“Cas!” Dean is sweating and his face is red like he just ran around the block six times. He looks so happy that Castiel can’t help but smile back at him, a wide, scrunch-y smile that feels simultaneously natural and uncharacteristic on his own cheeks. 

“Hello Dean.” He says, moving easily into the hug that Dean wraps him in. He’s hot and breathing heavily and the arousal that Castiel has had on a low simmer all day begins to heat up. 

“I’m glad you’re here. I realized last night that you didn’t have my number so if something woulda happened and you couldn’t make it… gimme your phone. I want to put my number in it. _Woo!_ I need water.” Dean’s stream-of-thought rambling does nothing to wipe the smile off of Castiel’s face as he hands Dean his phone and walks over to the cooler to grab a bottle of water. 

“Hey, thanks.” Dean takes the bottle and drinks down half of it without taking a breath. Castiel watches the movement of every swallow, muscles constricting, glistening with perspiration. His eyes focus on one single bead of sweat as it rolls down his throat, stuttering at his pulse point before continuing its way under the collar of his shirt. 

_Fuuuuuuuuuuck me,_ Cas thinks in tandem with that one droplet of sweat. 

Dean lowers the bottle and pulls it away from his lips, catching his breath. Castiel must be wearing every perverted thought he’s had in the past 12 hours all over his face because Dean looks back at him with a positively predatory look in his eye. 

“Hey!” Anna pops up next to Castiel and Dean, startling them both. “Great show, as always. Thank you again for the tickets! I’m so glad you’ve developed such an infatuation with my brother. It doesn’t even bother me anymore.” 

“Yes, thank you Dean-o,” Gabriel appears from nowhere on Castiel’s left, Jo on his arm, candy cane held in his lips like a cigarette. “Although I’m sure Casanova here wants to thank you enough for all of us.” He raises an eyebrow at Castiel, who sighs and looks up at the ceiling, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks. 

“Bus?” Dean asks Castiel. 

“Please.” Castiel replies and follows Dean towards the door. 

“Have fun you two,” Gabriel cheers after them. “And use protection Dean-o, ‘cause Cassie ain’t on the pill!” 

Castiel glares over his shoulder as they exit out the back. 

“Shit, umm,” Dean peaks out the door to the ally in which the bus is parked. “I think I’m going to have to sign some autographs. Sorry, Cas…” 

“Dean, it’s alright. It’s your job.” Castiel, disappointed about having to hold out jumping on Dean for a little longer, also kind of loves how flustered his presence has made Dean when faced with having to do something he does every night. 

“Will you wait on the bus for me?” 

“Of course.” 

“Kay. I swear I’ll make it quick.” 

“Don’t worry about it Dean.” 

Dean smiles, a small, private smile just for Castiel, before opening the door to gasps and shouts and _oh my god it’s him!_ ’s. He walks Castiel to the bus and another security guard opens the door. 

“Just a few minutes,” Dean assures him, then the door is closed between them and it is quiet. 

Castiel looks around the empty tour bus and settles himself on a seat next to a window facing Dean and his fans. 

Concurring feelings of jealousy and delight wrestle it out in his mind. On one hand, he’s watching girls cling onto Dean, asking for pictures and autographs. Dean hugs them all, smiling wide for the camera, producing the type of pictures Castiel remembers seeing on the internet. 

On the other hand, Dean is clearly interested in Castiel, and despite the girls’ best efforts, at some point Dean is going to get on this bus and they’re going to make out like bandits. 

Castiel decides to enjoy watching Dean interact with his fans as he laughs and talks with them. One girl, a red-haired girl with a cute little overbite, seems to be telling him something very important while holding her newly-autographed CD close to her chest. Dean wraps her up in a hug and says something in her ear. The girl is crying and smiling. A side-effect of being close to Dean must be to feel many _many_ emotions at once. 

Being human is confusing. 

Castiel is going to miss it. 

He’s going to miss a lot of things. 

No more than twenty minutes later the door opens and Castiel hears Dean tell the security guard, “nobody, you hear?” to which the security guard replies “ay ay, captain.” 

“Hey.” Dean stands at the top of the steps with a sideways grin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book mentioned is called [Bright's Passage](http://www.joshritter.com/brights-passage/) and it is by Josh Ritter
> 
> Shocking, _amirite?? ___


	8. To the Dogs or Whoever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh bring me the love that can sweeten a sword  
> A boat that can love the rocks of the shore  
> The love of the iceberg reaching out for a wreck  
> Can you love me like the crosses love the nape of the neck?  
> [-To the Dogs or Whoever](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3rcUsFatXw4&feature=youtu.be)

**Chapter 8**

In the three minutes he’d been able to spend with Cas tonight, he had already seen enough to know that Cas’ mind is exactly where his is. Things just kept getting in the way, like siblings and autographs, but now there was nothing between them except too much space. 

“C’mere.” Dean invites, taking a step forward to show that he means business. Cas stands up and walks towards him, wings tucked tightly behind him. 

Yes, Cas still has his wings, of course. That was just a dream, an incredibly realistic dream. 

This isn’t a dream. Cas walks towards him with purpose and determination. It seems to be happening too slowly and too quickly to fully process, but the moment that he’s close enough he reaches out and grabs Dean’s hand, tugging him forward until their mouths crash together. 

It’s not timid. It’s not delicate and it’s not a slow burn. It’s not at all how Dean expected the relatively shy, introverted Castiel angel-of-the-lord to be, and he’s pleasantly surprised by it; so surprised that he moans into it almost immediately. 

“Jeeze, Cas, you thinkin’ about this all day too?” Dean tries to find his sarcasm or his wit or something familiar to hold onto. Castiel whispers the word _yes_ into his mouth and with the hand that isn’t gripping onto the back of Dean’s neck, he grabs Dean’s wrist and presses his hand against the growing bulge in his pants. 

“Shit,” Dean groans, knees buckling slightly, “fuck, Cas, that’s…” 

“Stop talking Dean.” Cas pushes him down onto the bench seat and climbs on, straddling him, fingers twisting and tangling in Dean’s hair, seemingly desperate for a grip, for leverage to keep their lips together. Every fiber of his being is telling him to go straight for that bulge in Cas’ pants, but instead he slides his hands up Castiel’s sides, up to his shoulders, then very gingerly he fingers at the seams where wings-meet-back, slowly grazing down and applying pressure until Cas’ mouth falls open and a squeaky _ahhh!_ escapes his lungs. Dean grins a self-satisfied little grin at the sound. 

“Well you know I’m going to do that again.” He says, matter-of-fact. Cas swallows hard and nods. 

“Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea.” His face is so serious, but when Dean strokes the crease of his wing once again, feeling where the muscle of Cas’ shoulder connects with the solid muscle of wing, applying more pressure on the joint, all of the stoicism Cas had left falls apart as he cries out and moves his hips into Dean’s stomach. 

“That’s pretty hot, you know.” Dean strokes the same spot again and again, lightly, sending small tremors through the wings. 

“No one has… I mean, I don’t usually, _hmm!_ People normally don’t touch my wings. They’re not used to _oh!_ this type of stimulation.” 

“Can I keep doing it?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Something about the way Castiel’s voice cracks when he says please drives Dean to bury his fingers into the downy feathers at the base of each wing, tugging until he gets the reaction that he wants. 

Cas grinds down into Dean’s lap, groaning. It’s the hottest sound Dean’s ever heard; that desperate growl of an angel who knows what he wants but won’t ask for it. 

“Come on. Tell me what you need.” 

“How much time do we have?” 

_That’s one hell of an answer_ Dean thinks at first, but then he realizes that Cas is probably really asking how long until the bus is swarming with nosey band mates. 

“I don’t know, man. Probably not that long,” he resigns, but those must be the magic words. Castiel immediately goes for Dean’s fly, unzipping and unbuttoning, shifting his own weight and pulling Dean’s pants and boxers down to his knees, all in a few swift, deft motions. When warm fingers close tightly around the base of his cock, Dean lets out the breath, hissing the word “yesssss…”and closing his eyes. 

Dean grabs for another fistful of feathers and Cas makes quick work of his own jeans, hands trembling only slightly and muttering swears under his breath as Dean gropes at his wings. 

When they are finally pressed together, hot skin against hot skin, Castiel takes both of them in one warm, nimble hand and they begin thrusting in time into the tight tunnel Cas made for them with his fist. The friction is almost too much for Dean to deal with. Everything is too hot and he feels like he’s going to burst into flames, but then Castiel kisses him, almost too gently given the pure need echoing throughout Dean’s veins, and with that kiss the world cools down enough for Dean to be able to enjoy the build. His fists are full of feathers and Cas’ name is on his tongue as he spills onto his own shirt. 

Cas continues to ease Dean through his climax while still chasing after his own when Dean realizes he’s been all but useless. He tries to replace Castiel’s hand with his own only for it to be batted away. 

“No Dean, please, p-please keep your hands on my w-wings.” His voice is hesitant, borderline desperate. It completely conflicts with the thoughtful determination of his body that seems to know exactly what it needs. His wings extend slightly, arching over Castiel’s shoulders as if they’re taking it upon themselves to seek out Dean’s touch. 

Dean surges forward and claims Cas’ neck with his lips and tongue and teeth, biting and sucking, engrossing his fingers in the silky feathers, pulling and pushing and scraping his nails against the skin underneath. Cas’ fist is pumping hard and fast and he’s thrusting into Dean’s already come-stained shirt. With one more deep pull of feathers, Dean feels Cas’ body seize up and Cas shouts then breaths out a few little _oh!_ ’s with each burst of come cast from his body, the tufts of feathers along the top edges of his wings stand on end and relax. It’s beautiful to watch. 

Dean doesn’t even notice that they’re still kissing long after they’ve both cooled down. The dragging, lazy kisses feel so natural, with Cas’ fingers lightly scratching at the back of Dean’s neck and Dean’s arms draped over Cas’ shoulders, twisting feathers between his fingers and tracing the bone underneath, occasionally causing faint tremors to shake through the angel’s immense wings. 

“You need to change your shirt.” Castiel says, pulling away just barely, his lips still brushing against Dean’s as he speaks. 

“That’s alright. It’s not the first piece of clothing I’ve needed to change today thanks to you.” Dean leans forward and pulls off his shirt, balling it up and setting it on the couch beside them. He revels in the reignited longing in Castiel’s eyes as they flicker down to his torso. 

“I don’t understand,” Cas says, absentmindedly licking his lips, eyes still lingering on Dean’s chest. 

“Last night I had my first wet dream since high school, featuring a certain angel that I know.” He feels a smirk twist onto his lips as Castiel’s hands begin to slide up and down his stomach and ribs. Dean decides not to go into detail about the dream. 

“Well we can trade tonight. I’ll take the wet dreams and you can share a dirty motel room with my brother and sister who won’t let you _attend_ to your morning wood in private.” 

Dean can’t help but chuckle at how frustrated Castiel sounds, but he’s still running his hands along Dean’s skin, tracing the curvature of muscles and ribs. 

“It wasn’t funny Dean. The bathroom door wouldn’t close and Gabriel kept shouting at me while I was in the shower.” 

Dean’s chuckle is a full on laugh now, and it only gets worse when Cas glares at him, head cocked with a frown. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry… poor Cas. That must have been… _hard_.” Dean’s whole body quakes with laughter at his own cheap joke but he’s stopped short and yelps when Castiel pinches his nipples, “Yeow! Uncle! Uncle!” 

“It was hard.” Cas rubs his thumbs over the now stiff buds, then hunches over and slides his tongue across one, a single time, hard, and then once, fast, like a flick, making Dean shiver. 

“You’re an odd one, you know that?” 

“So I’ve been told.” Resignation is clear in Cas’ voice and it makes Dean regret the word he had chosen almost immediately. 

“No, c’mon, that’s not what I meant. You’re just hard to read, you know? Hey, now,” Dean curves his fingers under Cas’ chin to make him look up. “I’m kinda crazy about you, in case you haven’t noticed.” 

“You hardly know me.” 

_True._

“So?” 

“So you’re right. I am odd.” 

“I know,” Dean smiles, “I kinda like it.” 

“When the novelty of this wears off you are going to be terribly disappointed with me.” 

“Shut up Cas.” Dean says. He wants to tell Cas how wrong he is but he can’t find the words so he kisses the angel instead. 


	9. Baby That's Not All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fold yourself against me  
> Like a paper bird  
> Tonight we'll fly awhile  
> Just give me the word  
> [-Baby That's Not All](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qdzXy2K__LY&feature=youtu.be)

**Chapter 9**  


Message Sent: 1:02PM – I’ve spent more time in a car this past week than I have since I’ve been on Earth. It’s rather confining. 

Message Received: 1:05PM – Hiya Cas. Where are you? You should have stayed on the bus. It’s bigger. 

Message Sent: 1:05PM – Sign says we’re 30 miles from Tacoma. And I couldn’t do that. Anna and Gabriel would go off on some adventure without me and I’d never see them again. 

Message Received: 1:06– Oh darn then you’d have to just come along for the rest of the tour. 

Message Sent: 1:06PM – I couldn’t do that either. Not allowed to cross any country borders. 

Message Received: 1:06PM – Wait does that mean this is your last show? 

Message Sent: 1:07PM – Unfortunately yes. 

Message Received: 1:07PM – That sucks. 

Castiel texted Dean while Anna drove and Gabriel slept in the back seat. They hadn’t gotten back to their hotel room until after three o’clock that morning, and all of them were groggy and stiff from shitty motel mattresses. 

He purposefully neglected to mention to Dean that his inability to cross international boarders wasn’t the only reason that tonight’s show would be his last one. 

Tired as he was, Castiel was feeling pretty happy with himself. It all seemed pretty surreal, discovering Dean Winchester and the Bloody Kansas Band, and less than six days later he is on the guy’s tour bus giving him a hand job. And here he is now driving along through the evergreens just south of bumfuck Washington, texting Dean Winchester like it’s another regular day. 

He will only get to feel this for a short time, so he tries to be grateful that he gets to feel this at all. 

Message Received: 1:08PM – Want me to get you guys a few rooms at the hotel we’re at? 

Message Sent: 1:08PM – That’s not necessary. Gabriel likes to play a game called Let’s Find the Dirtiest Motel. Bedbugs get bonus points. I’m sure he’ll find us a place once he wakes up. 

Message Received: 1:10PM – What if I wanted you to stay with me tonight? 

Message Received: 1:10PM - Would you? 

“Why are you smiling? Are you talking to Dean?” Anna glances over from the wheel. 

“Yes.” He turns his phone away from her. 

“Did you two…” she wiggles her nose in Castiel’s direction. 

“No, uh, not in the biblical sense but we, uh…” 

“Gross. I don’t want the details. I was just curious. Besides, you’ve got a hicky on your neck.” Castiel subconsciously raises his hand to his neck and lightly rubs the tender bruise. “Is he a good kisser?” 

Chewing on his cheek, Castiel thinks for a moment, trying to come up with an appropriate answer for his sister. His silence must answer her question adequately enough. 

“I thought so.” She says. “I’m completely jealous, by the way. Happy for you, but completely jealous.” 

“I’m sorry Anna,” he begins, but she shakes it off and readjusts her hands on the steering wheel. 

“It’s not a problem. It’s nice to finally see you happy about something, even if it’s only for a short time…” Anna’s mention of the time they have left here seems to knock them both for a loop, but she recovers quickly. “There are still four other guys in the band for me to choose from.” She winks, and Castiel sees a little bit of Gabriel in her right then. 

“Dean wants us to stay at the same hotel as them tonight. Think we can talk Gabriel into it? It’s probably not a shit hole.” 

“If he stays asleep for another forty minutes we’ll land before he wakes and he won’t have a choice. Anyway, I’d like to get my hands on Kevin’s room key.” 

Message Sent: 1:16PM – What’s the hotel? 

Message Received: 1:16PM - :-) 


	10. Morning is a Long Way Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrap your arms around me  
> And hold me close to your light  
> I’m too weak for flyin’ tonight  
> I’ve been runnin’ all nighttime  
> Tryin’ to run from the hounds  
> And mornin’ is a long way down  
> [-Morning is a Long Way Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wpMXDNOZ9yA)

**Chapter 10**

The routine was the same as usual: sound check, dinner, second sound check, and then bull-shitting while the opening band warms up the crowd. Cas has been texting him periodically throughout the day. He’s at the show and he’s staying at their hotel. 

And this is the last night he’ll get to see him. 

That’s not something Dean can focus on right now. He’s got a show to put on, and regardless of the conflicting excitement and anxiety stirring up in his gut, he has to get on stage for an hour and a half to play the role of the carefree folksinger. This is something he can do. This is something he’s been doing convincingly for years. 

Message Sent: 8:50PM – Where are you in relation to the stage? Where will I find you? 

Message Received: 8:52PM – Center, in the back, at a table with Gabriel. 

Message Received: 8:53PM – Don’t look for me. That’s weird. 

Message Sent: 8:54PM – Whatever. 

Message Sent: 8:54PM – You’re weird. 

Message Received: 8:54PM – See you in a minute. 

Dean stands on the side of the stage, listening to the rumble of the crowd and waiting for the lights to go down. He loves this part. Sometimes even at this point he isn’t sure what song he’ll start with. It reminds him of his days doing open mic nights all over Kansas - just picking up his guitar and letting his fingers decide which songs to play, except now he’s got hundreds of people singing along with him to songs that he wrote. 

He decides to start with a song he wrote while driving south on Interstate-5 through Northern California in 2006 as they rolled by miles and miles of recently scorched hills. Wildfires had blown through real fast the day before, altering the landscape as it went. Later that same day they were stopped short by an earthquake that took out a bridge. 

If he were to write a song for Castiel right now, it would probably be similar to this one. 

Scanning the dark room Dean can see the silhouette of two angels at the back of the club. He tries not to stare in their direction for too long. Four hundred people paid for tickets so this can’t be all about Cas. 

By the sound of the applause following the song he figures he’s fooled them all. 

The band comes out and for a while Dean is able to focus. They follow the set list. They laugh and pound on their instruments. Dean seeks the euphoria he gets when he’s on stage, feeding off the energy of the music and the crowd. He’s always been able to escape from life up on the stage, distracting himself with adrenaline and attention. That’s why he’s invested so much of his life to making sure he gets to continue doing this. 

Tonight, for the first time in memorable history, Dean is looking forward to the show being over. 

During his solo part of the set, Dean finds himself focused on a particular silhouette of wings. The songs he chooses have nothing to do with angels. He tells more stories of the road. The lights behind the stage set the audience in white light and he sees a few familiar faces, roadies, groupies and Anna smiling in the front row. She was beautiful, but she had nothing on her brother. 

It wasn’t his best show, he knew it and felt bad because of it, but he did the best he could while being so wildly distracted. Seventeen songs and two encores later they were all able to disappear backstage. 

Cas was already there, beer in hand, talking to Bobby. The moment he walked in, however, Cas looked at him and grinned. _I could get used to this_ he thought, but then pushed that from his mind. He couldn’t get used to this, because tomorrow night he’d be getting off stage and Cas wouldn’t be there. 

And that sucked. 

“Your boy toy here sure knows a helluva lot about that war goin’ on upstairs.” Bobby follows Cas over to Dean and hands him a towel and a water. 

“That happens when your family starts it.” Cas shrugs and takes a drink of his beer. “It was the topic of many family dinners. Hello Dean.” Castiel’s expression softens when he looks from Bobby to Dean. 

“Hiya Cas.” Dean thinks about reaching out, just a touch on his arm or cheek. All he wants is to take Cas back to the hotel, but there’s all the steps, the wind down and autographs and photos. “Hey, I’m going to go out back, meet with some folks. I’ll be right back, okay? Like, ten minutes, tops.” 

“Alright. I’ll be here.” 

_It would never stay this easy._ Dean thinks as he winds his way to the back, down the hall with Chuck and Benny. _Eventually he’d get tired of you always running off._ It was true, Dean loved his life on the road, always moving, always surrounding himself with people who needed to keep moving too. 

Everyone was running from something, but Dean wasn’t running from anything but being alone with himself. 

Outside there were more than thirty people waiting around for the band. This was going to take much longer than ten minutes. 

Three hours later in his hotel room Dean tries not to pace wear spots in the carpet while he waits for Cas. When Cas texts him with an ETA he decides to take a quick shower and put on some clean clothes. He turns on the TV and then turns it off again. He changes his shirt again. Finally there’s a knock on the door. 

“What took you so long?” Dean flings open the door, knowing full well he has no room to talk after spending over an hour signing autographs. He pulls Cas into the room by the collar of his coat. 

“Gabriel wanted to stop for cheesecake.” Cas stands too close to Dean, looking up at him expectantly so all Dean can do is lean down and kiss the man. 

It’s even better than he remembers: the way Cas’ lips part easily for Dean’s tongue, the way his hands grip tightly on Dean’s hips, holding him in place while rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs under his shirt. 

“Stay the night with me,” Dean whispers, kissing along Cas’ jaw, savoring the burn of his stubble against his lips. There is no time for preamble. Dean knows what he wants, and he has a timeframe that he severely disagrees with. 

“But I didn’t bring my pajamas.” Cas’ stoicism falters when Dean bites his earlobe. 

“I don’t think you’re going to need ‘em.” 

Cas sits on the bed propped up by his wings. Dean is amazed at how strong those things are. He is straddling Cas, kissing his way along his jaw, his neck, his cheeks and ears, licking at every bit of skin he can find. He’s leaning into the angel, pressing their clothed chests together, too bemused by the taste and scent of Castiel to remember how to take his clothes off. He wants everything, and Cas is letting him have it. 

With soft breaths against Dean’s cheek and caresses of his thighs and hips, Cas spurs Dean on, all while leaning back comfortably on his wings. 

At some point Dean is able to pull away, taking his first breath of stale hotel air in what seems like hours. Looking at Castiel, he notices his lips slick, pink and shining, made swollen by Dean sucking on them. He can see how dark Cas’ usually bright blue eyes had become, and the red bruises and bite marks along the muscles in his neck. Cas is perfect, and Dean dives back in, kissing and biting, scraping his teeth along smooth flesh, feeling completely starved and hungry for all things Cas. 

“I- I… _Dean_ ,” Cas sighs, running his hands along Dean’s back, under his shirt, scraping his nails down Dean’s spine. His hips buck up as Dean grinds down onto his lap. 

“I know. You’re so good Cas,” Dean realizes he’s beginning to speak what would inevitably turn into incoherent rambling, but he doesn’t do a thing to stop it. He has always been a very talkative lover, which usually embarrassed him after-the-fact. Still, he whispers praises between suckles and brushes with Cas’ throat, the soft hollow behind his ear, everywhere he can reach. “You’re so good. Such a beautiful angel.” 

Cas hums at the praise. 

“Such a good angel, Castiel.” 

“No, Dean, _oh!”_ Castiel’s wings flutter and expand slightly, almost causing the two men to fall back onto the bed, but Dean grabs two fistfuls of Cas’ shirt and holds him up. 

“What was that?” 

“I- I think my wings are responding to you despite my objections.” Cas looks worriedly at Dean, who can only smile at that thought. 

He wants to see what else he can get those wings to do so he removes himself from Castiel’s lap, and Cas whines in protest at the loss of his weight. 

“Take your shirt off.” Dean commands, standing over Cas, cradling his chin in his hand and making Cas look up at him while he unbuttons his shirt. Dean watches him swallow hard as he pulls the shirt off over his arms and tosses it onto the floor without breaking eye contact. 

Dean takes in the sight before him. God damn, Castiel is a beautiful man. He sits on the bed in his worn jeans with his smooth stomach and chest, broad shoulders and lean arms all exposed and touchable, kissable… 

And those black wings framing him perfectly. Holy shit, Dean needs to get his hands on those wings right fucking now. 

He runs his fingers through Cas’ hair and kisses him lightly before walking around the side of the bed and crawling up behind him. Dean audibly gasps when he sees where the strong wings connect to Castiel’s back in a beautifully smooth transition from feathered wing to muscle and flesh. He reaches out and strokes his fingertips down the smooth skin between the wings, watching them palpitate in anticipation, watching the feathers all along the bone fluff up. 

Cas lets out a heavy breath like he’s been holding it in for too long and Dean loves that reaction. Cas is so sensitive. He needs to be careful, but he knows he wants to push this, to see how far he can take this new experience. 

He crawls up behind Cas and presses kisses into the back of his neck and shoulder blades while pressing himself into the wings. 

“You’re such a good angel,” he breaths into Castiel’s ear, and the wings rustle again. Dean kisses Cas’ temple. “You’re my angel Cas.” Dean is unsure what he’s expecting in response to that, or even why he said it in the first place, but before he even has time to over-think his words he hears Cas whisper, 

“Yours. Yes.” 

It’s so quiet that the sound of rustling feathers nearly covers the words completely. 

“You mean that?” 

Castiel turned his head as much as he could to meet Dean’s eyes. 

“Of course.” 

It isn’t until Castiel’s eyes stutter shut that Dean realizes he’s been combing through his feathers close to the joint that connected the wings to his shoulders. 

Something profound is happening. Dean can feel energy radiating in Castiel’s wings like an electric current that isn’t so much shocking as it is vibrating; like Castiel’s wings are purring. 

Dean hooks his arms underneath the wings and buries his fingers in them as he begins to kiss the skin of Castiel’s shoulders and neck, pressing lips to his spine and following it down, down, down between the wings. There’s a puff of wind and a crash as Castiel’s left wing extends quickly, only about halfway, knocking the lamp and clock off the nightstand and thumping hard against the wall with a thud. 

Damn, he didn’t realize how big these wings actually were. 

Holy shit. 

Cas tucks it back in quickly. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen.” 

“Dude, why are you so self-conscious about your wings? They’re awesome…” He settles in behind Cas and pulls him close, resting his chin on Cas’ shoulder and enjoying the soft brush of feathers against is arms. 

“You have seen angels before, haven’t you Dean?” 

“Yeah, a handful in person, a few in porn.” 

Castiel huffs out a laugh at Dean’s honesty. 

“An angel’s wings are often formed and molded to fit the angel, so what does it say about me, having wings like this?” 

“It says that you’re a badass motherfucker.” 

“Do I seem like a badass, Dean? Really?” 

“I’d bet you could hold your own in a fight.” 

“Yes. I suppose I could.” 

Dean nips Cas in the shoulder and begins petting the wings again. 

“They weren’t always black.” For the first time that Dean can recall, Cas moves one of the massive wings intentionally. He doesn’t extend it but instead wraps it around his torso, resting it in his lap. “They have always been dark, but they used to have some dark green right here,” he says softly, touching a few of the feathers gently, “and some blue, and along the tips of the flight feathers there was some white edging.” 

Watching Cas touch his own feathers was stirring something in Dean that he never realized was there. The moment is so tender that he wants to believe that it has something to do with love and admiration, but he knows himself better than that and realizes that Cas was quickly uncovering a new feather fetish of his 

Cas continues, “Angels are soldiers of God. We are supposed to fight to protect humanity, protect Heaven, answer prayers… I never did that. I was a watcher.” 

“A watcher?” 

“Yes. My duty was to watch over all of His creation. I rarely intervened, and when I did it would only be to tell my brothers. And I liked to watch: evolution, human nature, bees… bees are fascinating, Dean.” 

With each small revelation about himself Castiel was inadvertently endearing himself to the musician that sat behind him, gently petting his feathers. 

“I was a poor example of an angel. Michael used to tell me that I’d be a better human, so when the opportunity arose for me to come to Earth, I applied. I was accepted without much question, which I think may have been because they wanted me out of there since I had been having _doubt_ , which angels aren’t supposed to have. I had waivered, in my faith in Heaven, and my family, and in myself, I suppose. 

“The color of my feathers began to change the moment I landed. I was sick for weeks. I don’t remember much of it. Anna says I had a fever of 136⁰F for an entire week because my body was trying to burn out whatever it was that infected me. Angels are expected to get sick once we come to Earth, after being in a completely pure environment for eons and then this planet is covered in germs and disease, but I was sick much longer than anticipated. There weren’t many doctors specialized in angelic care at the time, and Heaven was so upset with Gabriel tricking The Committee that they refused to help us. My wings kept getting duller until finally all the color left them, and then I finally started healing.” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say. He just squeezes Cas tight. Black feathers tickle his chin. 

“My wingspan is over twelve feet, Dean. That’s _obscene_.” 

“That’s awesome,” Dean begins to argue, but he’s cut off. 

“It’s horrible. They’re too big for me to maintain, and they’re always in somebody’s way. And they’re, just, they are ugly, Dean.” 

“Now hold it right there Cas,” Dean slides around Cas’ right wing and straddles him once again. Cupping Cas’ jaw in his hands he continues. “Your wings are huge, there’s no denying that, and I’m sure that makes them a bitch to take care of, but,” his hands move to caress the high arch of the wings and follow the feathers down to where they drape onto the bed, “they are not ugly. They are beautiful, Cas, so fucking beautiful, and anyone who tells you otherwise, well, you let me know and I’ll punch ‘em in the fucking mouth.” 

The slight smile on Cas’ face give Dean hope that maybe he got through to him, at least a little bit. 

“You’re a good man,” Cas moves forward and kisses Dean softly before pulling away and saying, “I mean, aside from the threats of violence and penchant for angel porn.” 

“Shut up, you forced that confession out of me.” 

“I did no such thing.” Cas moves in to kiss Dean again, but Dean does something he didn’t realize he could ever find in his will to do: he leans back denying Cas of the kiss. The look on his face forces Dean to react quickly. 

“I could,” he didn’t know how to say what he wanted without sounding like a freak. “I mean, I’d love to, uh, if you wanted help, I could help. You know, with your wings.” 

“What do you mean?” Cas cocked his head and Dean fell for him even more. It wasn’t fair for a man to be that sexy and shirtless but also cute as hell at the same time. 

“Maintenance. You could just tell me what needs doin’ and I could do it for you.” 

“Are you saying that you would groom my wings?” the look on Castiel’s face was hard to read, somewhere between disbelief and something else. 

“Yeah, that.” 

“That’s a very nice offer, Dean, but…” 

“But what? Come on, you were just complaining about not being able to take care of them, and I want to help.” 

“I know you do, and that’s very nice of you, but you don’t understand. Grooming an angel’s wings it… it _means_ something.” 

Dean wasn’t aware of what this meant, but now that Cas wasn’t able to meet his eyes he had a feeling that maybe he made a mistake bringing this up. 

_Don’t even think about asking what it means. Don’t… don’t do it._

“What’s it mean?” 

_Moron._

“Grooming is a very intimate process. It involves a lot of trust, not just for the one being groomed but also the, uh, other…” 

“What about those angel salon things? Fluffers or whatever they’re called.” 

“Oh, please. Those guys are hacks. They’re essentially prostitutes.” Cas snaps and Dean tries not to laugh. Those ‘fluffers’ did always seem a little shady. “When an angel allows another angel, or human, or whomever, to groom their wings it usually means that they are mated.” 

“Mated.” Dean repeats, nodding slowly and absorbing the word. Not ‘together.’ Not ‘boyfriends.’ Not even _married_ but _mated._ He thinks of wolves and the term _mate-for-life_ while he chews on his lip. 

“Yes. So, you can see why it’s more than just having someone brush out the feathers. Sometimes it’s painful and sometimes it’s quite pleasurable, as I think you’ve figured out,” Cas finally looks up at Dean with a little squint, “so it’s best to have someone that really loves you and trusts you behind the wings while grooming.” 

Dean mulls this over, pretending not notice the brazen way Cas speaks about _love_ and _trust_. 

Everything that Cas just said _should_ scare the shit out of him. At this point, anything that threatens to throw a wrench in Dean’s life should be seen as surrounded with bright red flags and blinking lights. 

Yet somehow nothing that Cas has said scares him at all. 

“Well, just think about it.” Dean says, finally. 

“Dean did you hear anything I just said?” 

“ _Yeah,_ and _so_?” 

“So you know how that would seem then?” 

“Ask me if I mind.” 

“Dean you don’t know me…” 

“You know Cas, you keep saying that, and then I get to know you a little more and guess what? I still like you. So just think about it? Please?” Dean pouts and bats his eyelashes. 

The eye roll that this elicits from Cas is a tad overdramatic, but he nods. 

“Can we keep making out now?” Cas asks. 

“That’s a great idea,” Dean says before dominating Castiel’s mouth again, finally. 

He is distracted when Cas bites his lips. He’s also distracted when Cas pulls his shirt over his head, and by the way he grips at his sides with strong, supple fingers. He’s very distracted by the way Cas pulls him down and flips him so easily that Dean’s back is now pressing into the bed, the weight of Cas on top of him, controlling him, grounding him. 

But despite all of the distractions, Dean keeps hearing that word, over and over, rattling around in his mind. 

_Mate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wildfires by Josh Ritter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtCWvBpi37c)


	11. Darlin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How much do you want?  
> Does it depend on what I've got?  
> How much longer can this go  
> if I'm not sure and you don't know?  
> [-Darlin'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=heYBsc_Pems)

**Chapter 11**

Castiel wants to drown himself in Dean so he can die before he is forced to leave. He wants to believe that he’ll get to see what this thing is between them, but he knows he’s not going to get the chance to watch it flourish or flounder. 

Only two nights left before he’s going to leave this Earth. The odds of coming back are slim, which he realizes on some level but is unable to fully acknowledge. How is one supposed to subscribe to the notion that they are sure to be killed? He’s never had any formal training, he’s never been a fighter or a warrior. He doesn’t believe in the war. How can he fight for something he doesn’t believe in? 

He should tell Dean. 

Dean deserves to know; after all, he’s been nothing short of perfect. Castiel wants to tell him, just to get it out there. Maybe Dean will have some insight or perspective that could help calm the panic that is slowly building inside of him. 

But then Dean’s hands are unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down and that is a wonderful distraction. 

“Fuck, Cas, are you not wearing underwear?” 

“Nnnrrg,” he cannot talk while also sucking on Dean’s neck. “Usually don’t,” he gulps when Dean grabs handfuls of his bare ass. 

“Why are you so fucking perfect?” 

“Why are you still wearing clothes?” Castiel struggles to pull Dean’s shirt over his head, so he lets Dean do it while he sits up and works on the man’s jeans. 

Dean takes him by surprise and pulls his right leg out from under him, flipping him over and onto the bed. Castiel tries to take a moment to appreciate the beauty that is Dean’s naked form on top of him, but all thoughts are shoved away as Dean kisses down Castiel’s chest and stomach, swirling his tongue around each nipple, biting at the skin below his belly button as he licks his way south. 

A noise sounding completely foreign to Castiel escapes his lungs when Dean’s slick, wet tongue licks the length of his cock. 

“Ha!” Dean looks up at Castiel from between his legs, “this is going to be fun.” 

“Go easy on me Dean.” There is no merit to his words. Even he hears how pitiful they sound. 

“Yeah right,” Dean says before sucking him down like a Hoover. 

Castiel can only watch for a moment as Dean’s full, pink lips wrap snuggly around his girth, because when Dean looks up at him with wide green eyes he sees hunger and desire of which Castiel doesn’t understand. It’s nearly enough to push him over the edge right then and there. 

So he looks away. He focuses on a small crack in the ceiling and tries to recite the Enochian alphabet backwards in his head to calm down. 

The distraction almost works until Dean hoists Castiel’s legs up and over to wrap around his broad shoulders, slides his hands under Castiel’s ass and prompts him to fuck into his mouth. 

Desperate, pornographic sounds fill the hotel room. The heat of Dean’s mouth threatens to set fire to his insides. Castiel takes it slow as each time he pushes his hips forward it also pulls Dean down to him. Dean takes every inch he gives effortlessly and with as much grace as one man can have with a dick in his mouth. 

His orgasm is near boiling, curled in the pit of his stomach, waiting, and Castiel thinks he can ride out this wave just a little bit longer… 

… but then he feels Dean grip handfuls of his flight feathers and moan around his cock as he pulls them hard enough to send an electric pulse through every nerve in Castiel’s body. 

A broken cry of Dean’s name is the only warning he can give before coming down Dean’s throat. Dean removes his mouth from Castiel only after he’s been sucked dry and whimpers every time Dean’s tongue flits across the head. 

“Too… _mmm_ too much, too _ah!_ ” Castiel whines and twitches rather pathetically. Dean nuzzles at his softening member before sliding up and settling himself next to Castiel looking proud and a little cocky. 

“So do I get some crazy angel mojo now since I swallowed? My dick going to sprout little wings or something?” 

“No, that only happens if I suck you off.” Castiel closes his eyes and tries to catch his breath. 

“Ain’t gonna say no to that,” Dean says, and Castiel feels something warm slide against his hip. Dean is hard and leaking. Castiel realizes then that the blowjob has inadvertently decided which of them was going to be the bottom. 

He’s completely okay with that. 

“I’ve got another idea.” He takes Dean’s hand and guides his index finger between his lips, wrapping his tongue around it, feeling the texture of fingerprints and calluses. He pulls it out and slides it in again slowly. Dean’s eyes flutter and close. 

Castiel adds Dean’s middle finger, running his tongue between the two, covering them with his saliva. 

“Cas, I’ll admit this is hot, but it doesn’t quite feel the same as...” 

“ _Shut up, Dean_.” 

Castiel maneuvers Dean’s slick fingers between his legs and presses Dean’s fingers against his hole, giving a clue as to what he wants. 

The hitch in Dean’s breath is the answer to his silent request, but Dean is able to spit out “yeah, fuck, that’s a good idea.” 

The pressure of the intrusion isn’t something Castiel has felt in a long time, and there’s no way Dean knows this. Dean has every right to be rough and fast and harsh, but he isn’t. He eases one finger in, slowly, and rests it there until Castiel relaxes around it. Dean crooks his finger a few times and pulls out. The spit has dried up and there is more friction than Castiel would like. 

Dean seems to read his mind. 

“That was sexy as hell, but I’m gonna grab some lube.” He kisses the soft skin of Castiel’s hip and bounces off the bed to his bag. He mutters _fuck_ a few times while rummaging through his luggage. “Ah ha! Found you, ya bastard.” 

Castiel almost laughs as Dean walks toward him stark naked, his engorged dick bouncing in front of him with each step. He has a condom in one hand and a small bottle of lube in the other as he jumps back on the king size bed, walks two steps and falls to his knees next to Castiel making them bounce. Castiel actually laughs at the fleshy _slap_ of Dean’s erection hitting him in the stomach as he falls onto the bed. 

“I’m gonna rock that smile right off your face, angel.” Dean threatens with a wink as he slicks up his fingers. 

When he slides one finger in again, it’s much easier and Castiel is able to take a deep breath. “That’s better, isn’t it?” Dean’s voice then is soft, almost loving. He pulls his finger out slowly and pushes it back in while petting Castiel’s hipbone with his other hand. 

“More.” Castiel tries not to make it sound too much like he’s begging. He’s still sated from the blow job not ten minutes ago, but he can already feel something coming alive inside of him and he wants Dean inside of him more than anything. 

Dean, unhurried in his movements despite his own neglected cock, slowly presses another finger in. He takes his time, searches for the sweet spot, and when he finds it Castiel cries out. 

“Found it.” Dean states calmly with a devilish grin before pressing again. Sparks explode behind Castiel’s eyes and he cannot help the sound that leaves his mouth. 

“Holy shit, Cas…” Dean seems as much in awe of this as Castiel is. “I might need to rethink this. This changes everything.” 

A slight uneasiness washes over Castiel at those words, but Dean presses another finger in and aims for that same spot making Castiel involuntarily yelp as his hips jump off the bed. 

“Wh-why are you still,” Dean presses again, “ _ah!_ still doing that if _oh!_ ” and again, “you want to _mmm ah!_ stop?” 

“Stop?” Dean stills, “I’m about to have me some sweet angel ass why the hell would I stop? Do you want me to stop?” 

Castiel feels like an idiot for blushing when he has three fingers up his ass. 

“No, I just thought… you said that it changes...” 

“Yeah, instead of taking you from behind and burying myself in those wings of yours I’m going have you on your back so I can see all the pretty faces you make because you’re so fucking gorgeous.” 

At that moment Castiel feels unbelievably self-conscious and a little confused so he covers his face with his hands. But, then Dean actually _rubs_ at his prostate with all three fingers and every thought he’s ever had falls right out of his head. Castiel moans loudly into his hands and then his arms fall onto the bed. 

Castiel watches as Dean rolls the condom onto his swollen erection. He watches as Dean adds a little more lube to it while pumping it a few times, and shivers when he rubs the excess from his fingers around Castiel’s opening. Castiel feels stretched out and ready, his own arousal coming back slowly. 

Dean lifts Castiel’s legs over his shoulders, pressing into his calves as he leans forward to align himself, bending Castiel in half until he feels so exposed he blushes, again. 

“You’re adorable,” Dean says. 

“Just fuck me already.” 

“Slow down there turbo. First, a few things,” Dean presses the blunt head of his dick against Castiel’s ass as he speaks, “One, I need you to relax and keep breathing, okay? If I feel you tense up I’m going to stop moving until you relax.” Dean is sliding his slippery, sheathed cock all along Castiel’s ass as he talks. It’s driving Castiel wild, and he hates himself a little for wiggling his ass against it but it makes Dean smile. “And two, you have to tell me what you need. Don’t be shy, Cas, because I’ll give you whatever you want.” 

That last bit is whispered against Castiel’s lips as Dean leans in to kiss him. 

“Capisce?” Dean asks. 

“I capisce.” Castiel responds. 

Dean kisses him again and slowly, achingly slowly, begins to move forward. 

It’s overwhelming, to say the least. At first Castiel is convinced that it cannot happen, but then even though it feels like Dean hasn’t moved at all, the swollen head is all the way in and Dean pauses. 

“Dean?” Castiel manages, reaching up to touch the man’s cheek softly. 

“M’okay.” Dean says. His eyes are closed and the bedside lamp casts shadows of his eyelashes over his freckled cheeks. This peaceful, completely euphoric expression will forever be seared into Castiel’s brain. 

When Dean opens his eyes they are electric green, and when he begins to slide in just a little bit more it elicits a breathy _ahhhhhhh_ from Castiel and Dean actually smiles. Neither of them seem able to break eye contact, and Castiel doesn’t want to look at anything ever again except the face Dean makes as he slides all the way in and stills, allowing Castiel a moment to adjust and relax. 

Dean has Castiel folded in half, Castiel’s knees are almost touching the bed next to his ears and his ankles resting on Dean’s shoulders. Dean’s arms bracket him against the bed. It’s very intimate and confusing, and Castiel reaches up to wrap his hands around the back of Dean’s neck just to have something to hold onto. 

He feels completely surrounded and consumed by Dean. He’s safe and warm and desperately wants Dean to feel the same. 

He shifts his body, canting his hips upwards, wincing when he feels that spearing sensation at the base of his spine. 

“Just relax Cas. Stay still…” 

“That’s not what I’m… trying to…” and then his wings are released from beneath his back with a _whuff_. He extends them out, up, and around Dean, draping his feathers across his back and legs. 

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean sighs, his eyes fluttering closed. He rests his forehead against Castiel’s. 

They stay like that for a moment, surrounded by each other in every way and appreciating the feeling, the warmth and comfort that they both seem to crave until Castiel feels like if Dean doesn’t move he may faint. 

He catches Dean’s lips in a soft kiss and nods. It’s a silent plea for so many things Dean may never understand. 

Please move. Please fuck me and don’t ever stop. Please understand why I’ll have to leave you. Please save me. 

Dean starts to pull out, each movement slow and dragging, pulling a whine out of Castiel. He tightens his wings around Dean and pulls him forward again. 

Together they build up a rhythm, taking their eyes off each other only when Castiel’s eyes roll back in his head after a particularly pointed thrust, or when he pulls Dean down to kiss him or bite him or breath him in. 

The pace is deliciously slow and builds only when neither of them could stand it any longer. They should both be ashamed at the way they seem to be cherishing each other, but it feels too goddamn incredible to care. 

Eventually they reach an unspoken agreement that they can’t take it, that it’s finally time, and Castiel pulls Dean in harder as Dean snaps his hips with precision and they both cry out to each other. Everything becomes _more –_ faster, harder, _oh god Dean harder…_

“ _De-ean… god pl-ee-ase-ee_ ” Castiel’s broken voice stutters out between Dean’s ruthless thrusts. It’s all he can say, but Dean understands. He leans down onto one elbow and moves his other hand to Castiel’s throbbing, neglected cock. 

“I got you, Cas, baby don’t worry. I got you.” Dean mutters, lost in sensation. 

Castiel wraps his free leg around Dean’s thighs, which changes the angle just slightly and… 

“ _Oh!_ Don’t call me _ohh!_ babyoh _gahh_! Right _there!”_

Each strong, fluid movement of Dean’s hips punches him directly into Castiel’s prostate, harder and harder and _fuck Dean, yes_ , until every muscle in his body clenches and relaxes as thick, hot splashes of come land on his chest in time with Dean’s strokes. 

“Fuck, Cas, that’s so… I’m… _yesssss…_ ” Dean’s hips stutter, slamming in only three, four more times until Castiel can feel Dean twitching deep inside of him, his eyes squeezed shut and jaw dropped open in a silent scream. 

Dean collapses and releases Castiel’s other leg. Castiel experiments, clenching around Dean spent cock. He’s rewarded with a squeak and a curse muffled into the warmth of his neck. 

They lie still for a long time, the only movement is Castiel’s wings slowly sweeping over Dean’s skin, caressing the bare flesh of the man Castiel has fallen for so quickly. 

Dean goes soft and pliant and eventually slips out of Castiel. Both men groan at the sensation and Castiel feels the loss in more ways than one, as now he’s just that much closer to having to leave all of this behind. 

He’s fairly certain that Dean has fallen asleep on top of him until he moans and kisses Castiel’s chest. 

“Please don’t get up,” Castiel tries not to sound like he’s begging. 

“Gotta. You stay just like this, be right back.” Dean frowns slightly as he leaves the warmth of the wings, but he quickly disappears into the bathroom to dispose of the condom and clean himself off. He brings back a wet towel and a dry one and is thorough with his cleaning of Castiel. When he deems the job complete he lies back down on top of him and gestures for Castiel to wrap his wings around them again. 

Dean rests his head on Castiel’s chest, and Castiel goes back to slowly caressing Dean’s body with his wings. It’s the first time he’s been happy with how large his wings are, because he can touch almost every part of the man at once and it sends satisfying little vibrations up the feathers and through the muscle and bone. 

He’s forgotten what it feels like to have his grace, but this sparks the memory. 

One of Dean’s hands finds one of his and they tangle their fingers together. In that moment everything is perfect and nothing else matters except for the rise and fall of their chests. 


	12. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know where the nightmares sleep  
> On what fodder do they feed  
> I followed them back down to hell  
> And I spent some time down there myself  
> [-Nightmares](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TYn1nBVw3as)

**Chapter 12**

Dean wakes up to an empty bed. 

“Cas?” he calls out into the room, groggy and squinting through the bright light filtered through the curtain. 

There’s no response. He gets up, finds his own boxers tangled with his pants on the floor, and pulls them on. 

Cas’ clothes are nowhere to be found. 

“Hey Cas?” He wanders into the bathroom and flips on the light, like that’s going to help him see a full grown angel hiding in there. All he sees is an empty hotel bathroom. 

_Maybe he went to get breakfast_ he thinks. Dean walks to the chair where his jacket had been disregarded the night before to search the pockets for his phone. 

He sees a book set neatly on the seat of the chair. Tucked inside of it are two black feathers. 

_No._

The sinking feeling in his gut confirms that the fear he felt when he woke up alone was not unfounded. 

Cas had left. 

He picks up the book and digs through the pockets of his coat trying to find his damn phone. 

No missed calls. No new texts. 

Message Sent: 9:37AM – Cas where are you? 

Wishful thinking causes him to expect a text back right away. Something simple that would explain what has happened. _Went for coffee, be back soon_ or _Gabriel got arrested, didn’t want to wake you._

Dean stands there, nervously thumbing the corners of the pages and grasping the paperback in one hand with his phone in the other, waiting not-all-that-patiently for five full minutes before typing out another text. 

Message Sent: 9:42AM – Are you coming back? 

He was shaking now, unsure if it was from the anger of being a jilted lover or something else entirely, as he sat on the chair waiting for a response. 

Message Sent: 10:33AM – I’ll take that as a no. 

By noon Dean was showered and packed. He definitely doesn’t look at the bed, and he tucks the book and feathers away, shoving them to the bottom of his duffle bag. Neither the scowl on his face or the heavy rock that seems to have lodged itself in his chest budges as he checks out of the hotel and climbs onto the bus. 

“Whoa there brother,” says Benny, who is sitting at the small table reading a paper looking like something from a Southern Gothic film from the 50’s. “That’s a dark cloud hanging over you this morning.” 

Dean walks past him and throws his duffel against the wall of his bunk before turning and heading towards the fridge, opening a beer and gulping half of it down without breathing. 

“Saw ‘em driving off this morning.” Bobby mutters from the cockpit. “Sorry kiddo.” 

“It’s fine.” Dean sits across from Benny. “That’s life on the road.” 

He doesn’t tell anyone that Cas left without saying goodbye. 

Dean checks his phone again. 

Still nothing. 

Minutes and miles go by on the bus. There is the regular, constant low hum of activity: Kevin typing on his laptop, Chuck talking on the phone from his bunk, Benny, Jo and Ash playing cards, Bobby swearing at traffic. Dean fights the urge to text Cas again. 

He’s angry. It festers inside him, boiling and bubbling until he feels like he’s about to scream. Everything is hot and loud and aggravating. 

No one seems to notice as Dean looks calmly out the windows while the miles roll by. 

It’s a short tip to Vancouver, but getting the bus and everyone on it across the border takes time and effort, as usual. Dean sits back and lets Bobby take care of everything. Bobby’s just better at this than they are, and Dean can’t find the energy to be helpful anyway. 

They get dinner at a touted local restaurant and pass a dive bar on the frigid walk back to the hotel. Dean ducks inside, tells them he’ll meet them all later, and decides to get black out drunk. 

He changes his mind after only a beer and a half and decides instead to call Sammy, who answers after two rings. 

“Dude! Hey!” 

“Hey Sammy.” He fidgets with the beer glass in front of him. “Hope it’s not too late to be calling.” 

“Dean, its 8:30,” Sammy’s laugh sprinkles cold water on the hot anger he’s been immersed in all day. 

“Is that it? Jesus, it’s been a long day.” He looks at his watch and sees that it is only 6:38 in Vancouver. 

“Everything alright? Where are you?” 

“Vancouver. Canada. Sitting at a bar,” he takes a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet (the Canadian one with the lady on it, not the one with the president with the hair) and leaves it on the bar with his half-drunk beer and gets up to leave, “and no, Sammy, no. I don’t think everything is alright.” 

“What’s up?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“I see. That why you called? To _not talk about it_?” 

They’re both quiet, doing the standard back-and-forth when one of them has something to say but doesn’t want to go through the emotive rigmarole of actually saying it. 

“Is it the band?” 

“No.” 

“Is it a girl?” 

Dean laughs. 

“No.” 

“It a guy?” 

Dean doesn’t say anything, just watches the steam of his breath rise in front of his eyes as he breathes. It’s fucking freezing outside. 

“It’s a guy. Okay, that’s fine. What’s his name?” 

Sammy is quiet, waiting patiently like always, silently egging Dean on. 

“Castiel.” Dean wants to punch himself for how much he lets that word hurt him as he says it aloud. 

“Castiel. That’s, uh, unique.” 

“I call him Cas,” Dean wanders down the sidewalk as he talks, feeling calmer than he has all day. “He’s an angel.” 

“Are you just really into pet names now or…” 

“No, asshat, he’s an actual angel. Got wings and everything. So does his brother. So does his sister.” 

Last night Dean fell asleep completely surrounded by those wings. They were soft and warm and alive, separate from Cas but still completely and totally _Cas_. 

“That’s cool. You met his family? That’s kind of a big deal, right?” 

“They all came to a couple shows, followed us up the coast.” 

“I see.” Dean hears Sam muffle the phone and say something to Jess, presumably. “So, where’s Castiel now?” 

“Don’t know. Heading back down to California, I’m guessing.” 

“Ah,” Sammy starts, Dean cuts him off. 

“He didn’t say goodbye.” 

“I see.” 

“This morning I woke up and he was gone.” 

“Maybe there was something he needed to take care of?” Leave it to Sammy to always have faith. Maybe Cas just had something he needed to do. Maybe he was late for volunteering at the animal shelter or late to making his monthly donation to the soup kitchen. Sammy would never see that maybe his own brother just wasn’t good enough for anyone to want to stick around. 

“I don’t think so Sammy.” 

“That sucks Dean. Really, but give it a few days, let things settle, play a show or two and if you still feel, you know, however you feel right now, try getting in touch with him again.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean decides it’s time to change the subject before he bashes his head against the brick wall of a convenience store. “Hey, how’s Jess?” 

“She’s good, man,” Sammy chuckles. 

“What? What are you not telling me?” 

“She’s uh, _hon, can I tell him? Come on, he’s my brother! Whatever, I’m going to tell him,_ ” Dean hears Jess squeal something from the background, “she’s pregnant.” 

“Holy shit, man, you serious?” Dean stops on the sidewalk and laughs and damn, does it feel good. 

“Yup. In a few months you’re going to be Uncle Dean.” 

“A few months? How far along is she?” 

“Four and a half months. We wanted to wait until the risky part was over before we told anyone. She just had a check-up today. Everyone is healthy, Jess, and the two future munchkins.” 

“Two!” Dean half yells into the ear of a man walking by, “you’re talkin’ twins?” 

“Twins!” 

“Jesus, Sammy Super-Sperm over there.” 

“Dean!” Jessica’s voice comes on over the phone. 

“Hey babe, congrats.” 

“Thanks Dean! Twins, can you believe it?” 

“Sure you’re ready to raise two moose babies?” 

“Ready to raise two moose babies with my giant moose husband.” She giggles and Sam yells _hey!_ in the distance. “Love you Dean, here’s Sam,” and there’s some shuffling and laughing and then Sam’s voice come back on. 

“Fuck you both and your human-moose hybrid theories.” 

“Oh shut up I’m sure they’ll be perfectly normal-sized children.” 

“I had to tell you…” Sam starts to apologize. 

“I’m glad you did. I’m happy for you Sammy. That’s awesome.” 

“Thanks Dean. You going to make it our way sometime soon?” 

“Tour wraps up at the end of March. I’ll head back to Lawrence shortly after that. I want to see how fat Jess is.” 

“She’s not that fat… yet.” Sammy says loudly, then, “oh, now she’s flipping us off. _Real cute, hon._ ” 

“Man, I miss you guys.” 

“We miss you too. And hey, things are going to be alright, with Castiel, I mean, I’m sure he’ll come around.” 

“Yeah, we’ll see. I’m going to head in before I freeze my perky lil’ nips off out here.” 

“Yeah alright, talk soon?” 

“Sure thing bitch.” 

“Jerk. Love ya.” 

“You too.” 

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets and walks back to the hotel. 

He’s going to be an uncle. Sammy’s going to be a dad. That’s pretty great. 

And he’s still got the road. Shit can hit the fan six ways to Sunday but as long as there’s road and wheels then Dean will be alright. 

He’ll be alone, but he’ll be alright. 

He will be alright. 


	13. Here at the Right Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I met you  
> You were sick but you did not know why  
> I was a pretty poor cure  
> But my love for you was always sure  
> The bucket was broken  
> But the water was pure  
> [-Here at the Right Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8_a_h4iScRk)

**Chapter 13**

Castiel waffled between being furious with himself and thinking that he did the best thing he knew. He ripped off the bandage that was going to have to come off anyway, and wasn’t that supposed to be the easiest way? Instead of lingering around, saying awkward goodbyes, and making false promises that they were both incapable of keeping, he just left. 

He slipped away from Dean’s warmth that morning. Dean had even made a small cooing sound when Castiel reached back down and touched the back of his neck one more time. It was a sound that nearly tore Castiel apart. 

Castiel almost stayed. But he was already dressed and needed to get out before he drove himself crazy. He was going to have to leave eventually: either now or tomorrow when he and Anna had to report to Heaven. 

Nerves and nausea hit him then, so he focused once more on Dean and his fuzzy hair all twisted from Castiel’s fingers and the pillows. He was on his stomach and the blankets were pulled up just below his bare shoulders. Castiel spent too long trying to find patterns in the freckles he found there. 

Guilt was the next thing he felt, and it hit him like a tidal wave. Dean had been nothing but kind and accepting and wonderful to Castiel. Didn’t he deserve an explanation? That answer was yes, but Castiel couldn’t explain it to him. He couldn’t even accept it himself yet. He was _afraid_ , and angels weren’t allowed to be afraid. 

He was one pathetic excuse of an angel. 

Finally, Castiel turns to leave, worrying that he was staring so intently at the stunning man tangled in sheets that he might actually wake him up. When he dons his jacket, he feels the book from Powell’s and in some stupid form of penance, an apology that he knew Dean wouldn’t understand, he silently plucks out two small, shiny feathers, ones that he’s sure Dean touched last night, and tucks them into the pages of the book before setting it with Dean’s jacket. 

The drive home was tough. They were all exhausted. Gabriel had gone out dancing with Jo and some others until the sun was nearly up, and Anna wouldn’t say exactly what she had been up to but Castiel saw her slinking out of Kevin’s room around the same time that he was leaving Dean’s. 

Anna slept in the back seat, Castiel was shotgun, and Gabriel drove. 

“You’re awfully quiet. More quiet than normal, even. Is this about Dean or the fact that in 24 hours you’re going to be shipped home to be Michael’s puppet?” 

Castiel sighed at his brother’s brutal honesty. 

“Both,” his voice cracked, but he continued anyway. “Human emotion is much more complex than I anticipated.” 

“You’re an angel, Casanova, not human.” 

“I definitely feel more human.” 

It was true. He felt everything more vividly now, right down to the ache he felt deep inside from the night before. 

“Dean-o sure did a number on you.” 

Castiel thinks that maybe he shouldn’t say anything more, but now that Gabriel has kick-started this conversation he can’t seem to help it. Someone has to know. He may be off to heaven to be assuredly killed or maimed or possessed and used against his own family and garrison, but before any of that happens he needs at least one person to know that a beautiful, bright man named Dean Winchester thought he was worth something more. 

“He wanted to groom my wings.” 

“Hold the phone. Seriously?” 

“That’s what he said, yes, although he wasn’t aware of the implications at the time.” 

“And did you explain to him what that meant? The so-called _implications_?” 

“Of course, Gabriel.” 

“And what did Mr. Chisel Chest say to that?” 

“He asked me to think about it.” 

“Huh.” Gabriel is quiet for once, briefly, thinking this over. “I know we came to this rock because we’re kicking angel rules to the curb but still, that’s kind of a big deal. What did you tell him?” 

“We didn’t talk much after that.” Castiel feels himself heat up as his brother whistles softly through is teeth. “Then this morning I left before he woke up.” 

“Why the hell would you do that?” 

“I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“Oh Castiel.” Gabriel shakes his head. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, because you can be really fucking stupid sometimes.” 

“Thanks. I feel better now.” Castiel uncomfortably rests his head against the window. 

“Well you can be. I didn’t tag along on this road trip because I’m a freak for Dean Winchester and the Bullshit Kansas Whatever-the-Hell. I came along because I wanted to make sure my brother and sister had some fun before they get shipped off to a fucking war in a place where I’m not allowed to even…” Gabriel’s voice is steady, but he’s getting angry. “You know, we’ve been here for over three years, and I’ve never gotten to see you really let loose. You’ve always had your guard up like nothing could ever be fine, and I guess you were right to do that seeing how you have the worst luck ever and have to go fight in stupid Michael’s war. But it’s been hard to sit back and watch you be miserable.” 

“I haven’t been miserable.” 

“No, you haven’t, you’re right, but you’ve never allowed yourself to be happy and that’s worse somehow. You never let yourself indulge in the weird shit this planet does for fun. I mean, have you ever even been to a strip club? Spent the night in jail? Slept outside naked? Even the porn you watch is vanilla; two humans fucking missionary style, _oh, that’s hot._ ” 

Castiel would argue if he had any fight left in him. But he didn’t so Gabriel continued. 

“And that fucking Dean Winchester guy, from the moment I heard you start talking about him, I thought, _this is what Cassie needs_. It was the first time you’ve allowed yourself to be happy since you got here. I haven’t seen you smile like since… Jesus, I don’t remember when.” 

“So I let you down?” 

“No Castiel. No, no you didn’t.” 

“But I’ve been boring?” 

“Yeah, kind of, but it’s not even that. I just… you just need to figure out what is important to you and fight for it. Something down here needs to be worth it for you to... I need to you to fucking fight, Castiel, because I need you to come back from Heaven when this war is over, okay?” 

That’s when Castiel noticed something in Gabriel that he had never seen before. 

It was sadness and fear. 

He was sad and afraid because he was going to be left alone. 

“I’ll come back. We both will. I’ll make sure of it.” There was more conviction in his voice than he actually felt. He was full of doubt himself, but now he had someone to be strong for. This was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not and Castiel needed to be brave. 

The rest of the drive was tense and quiet. 

He had turned off his phone. And now, after over seventeen hours of traffic jams, rest stops, gas stations, and stretches of ugly highway he was alone in his apartment. He turned his phone on, not really ready to face the consequences of his decisions, but he was running out of time. He had approximately seven hours left on Earth, so it was now or never. 

The phone vibrated seven times. Seven text messages. He didn’t want to read them, but he couldn’t help it. 

Message Received: 9:37AM – Cas where are you? 

Message Received: 9:42AM – Are you coming back? 

Message Received: 10:15AM – I’ll take that as a no. 

Message Received: 1:07AM – Dammit Cas this isn’t fair. 

Message Received: 3:22AM – At least tell me WHY YOU ARE SUCH A FUCKING COWARD! 

Message Received: 3:38AM – Fine whatever. 

Message Received: 12:19PM – Got drunk. Sorry. Won’t bug you again. 

Dean was right, it wasn’t fair, and he was a coward. Dean deserved to know, and Castiel wanted to tell him, but he couldn’t do it over text messages, and he couldn’t get to Canada. He couldn’t do it over the phone for fear that Dean would hang up on him and that all resolve would be lost when he heard his voice. 

So Castiel wrote a letter. He wrote and wrote and wrote, scratched some bits out and wrote some more. He read it over a few times and re-wrote it, working on it for hours until it was just right. Then, he sealed it up in an envelope. He was able to pass it off to Gabriel before they had to say their goodbyes. 

That was it. 

That’s how Castiel spent his last night on Earth. 


	14. Another New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I won't call it rescue what brought me here back  
> To the old world to drink and decline  
> And to pretend that the search for another new world  
> Was well-worth the burning of mine  
> [-Another New World](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7sb46-jjYUg)

**Chapter 14** __

Dean was backstage in Rochester, New York, when Bobby came by with his game face on. 

“The nut job brother of that angel you met a few weeks ago is outside. Says he’s got something for you. Want me to send him in or…” 

Gabriel. What is he doing here? 

“Or kick his ass?” Dean interrupts. 

“Just give me the word, kid.” 

“Bring him in. Whatever.” 

Seeing Gabriel’s smile was infuriating. What gave this guy the right to smile like that? 

“Hola Dean-o.” 

“What do you want?” 

“Castiel isn’t here, if that’s what you’re wondering.” 

“Figured. Don’t care.” 

“Sure.” 

They stare at each other for a moment, sizing each other up. Gabriel looks sort of wimpy, but he is an archangel so Dean assumes he might be able to take an unarmed musician out with very little effort. 

“I’m here on behalf of one nerdy little angel we both know and love. He wanted me to give you this.” Gabriel hands Dean a thick, sealed envelope that says _Dean_ in scratchy handwriting. It must be Cas’ handwriting. His soul aches at the thought, something it’s been doing periodically whenever Dean’s knuckles brush against that book still tucked away in his duffle. “He gave it to me right before he was shipped off. Apologies for not getting it to you sooner.” 

“Shipped off? Shipped off where?” 

“Oh. That’s right, he didn’t tell you, did he?” Gabriel directs a look of pity towards Dean, then frustration, “Oh for fucks sake Castiel,” he grumbles, glancing at the ceiling. 

“If you don’t tell me what’s going I swear to God I’ll start throwing punches.” 

“That’s not necessary Dean-o, and there’s no God to swear to anyway. That’s why our little Casanova was drafted.” 

“Drafted for what?” 

“He was shipped home. Drafted. He’s a soldier in Michael’s war. Both he and Anna.” Gabriel looks at the floor. 

Dean feels his blood run cold. That can’t be why he disappeared, can it? No. Cas wasn’t a warrior, he wasn’t a fighter. Dean remembers him saying how he was a guardian. He wasn’t designed to fight. _Oh no._

Every frustration Dean had since waking up alone, all of that anger softens quickly, drowning in the desire to know where Cas is, if he's okay, why he had to leave, when he was coming back, and why he hadn’t brought it up before. 

He clears his throat and attempts to speak, but “When,” is all he can get out. He swallows hard and thumbs at the envelope. “When did he leave?” 

“The day we got home from Seattle.” Gabriel says softly. 

“And, uh, when will he be back?” 

“That’s a very difficult question to answer, pal.” 

“Well fucking try.” 

“I can’t. Angels don’t get leaves or phone calls home. Angels only stop fighting for three reasons: either the war ends, or they’re deemed no longer useful for battle,” Gabriel stops talking. 

“Or? What’s the third?” Dean knows, but for some sick reason he needs to hear it. 

“Don’t make me say it Dean.” His voice is quiet, broken. 

Dean understands all too well the look and sound of a man trying not to be afraid of losing his little brother. 

“I need some air.” Dean turns on his heel and heads towards the exits. He forgets about the autographs and photos and fans and is accosted as soon as he walks out onto the sidewalk. 

He’s surrounded, and he’s drowning in it and he feels like he might break at any moment. He can’t even force a smile when two girls start hugging him. He wants to scream at all of them, he wants to run as fast as he can away from all their overwhelming joy. 

And then the sidewalk is empty. 

Gabriel is standing next to the door with his hand up in a waving motion. 

“They’re gone. All back at their homes, safe and sound. They won’t remember a thing.” 

“Wha-?” 

“Angel mojo.” Gabriel smirks. 

“I thought y’all lost your powers when you moved down here?” 

“Most angels do.” He cocks his eyebrow and presents himself like a prize on The Price is Right. “Archangel.” He states. 

Dean nods. “Well. Thanks, then.” 

He can finally take a deep breath. It’s mid-March in New York and the cold burns down his throat and into his lungs. That burning sensation feels better than everything else Dean is feeling so he tries to focus on it. 

“You can be mad at Castiel, he was a little shit for not telling you why he left. But, at least read that. He tries to explain, and I gotta say the weird little dude has a way with words.” 

“He let you read this?” Dean is surprised by that, and a little disappointed for a reason he can’t place. 

“Dude. Archangel. I knew what it said the second he handed it to me.” Gabriel raises his eyebrows to make his point. Dean could almost laugh at that if he didn’t feel like he was about to throw up. “It would probably make him feel a whole lot better to know that you read it, and, you know, maybe that you weren’t still totally pissed.” 

“Well I am still pissed!” Dean raises his voice but calms immediately. It’s an empty anger, unlike what he’d been feeling before. “Besides, how am I supposed to let Cas know I read it? I don’t exactly have Heaven on speed dial or anything.” 

“Yes you do.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Prayer, dummy!” The look on Dean’s face must be comically confused and Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Okay let’s start at the beginning. Have you heard of _prayer?_ ” 

Dean clenches his jaw in frustration, but nods. 

“Have you ever prayed before?” 

Dean nods again. Memories flood his mind of being fourteen and scared shitless, sitting with his elbows propped on Sammy’s hospital bed and talking to the ceiling. 

“It’s that easy. You don’t need to be on your knees. You don’t need a rosary. Just direct your words at your precious _Cas_ and voila! Free long-distant calls direct to your celestial boyfriend. He won’t be able to call back but he’ll always check his messages. Trust me, whatever he’s doing up there right now, he could probably use a few prayers.” 

Prayer. That actually makes sense. Dean feels sort of stupid for not thinking of that himself. 

“You know why I wanted to come down to this hunk of rock, Dean-o?” 

Dean doesn’t say a word, but the look on his face must ask _why_ because Gabriel continues without pause. 

“Because I hate how you people interpret everything we’ve done. Your Bible is a book of lies. The religions you form are absurd. The wars you fight in God’s name have nothing to do with God at all. The human race is shortsighted, selfish, and straight-up fucking stupid. I fought so hard to come down here because I wanted to try and fix some of the gross misinterpretations, and maybe help you all realize what faith really is, what it is capable of being. I came down here with the intent of fixing your species. It’s proving to be harder than I thought it would be, seeing how you all are so content feeling guilty and miserable all the time. I see you as deeply flawed, narcissistic, disgusting creatures. Do you know why Castiel wanted to come down?” 

Dean shook his head. 

“He really wanted to know what honey tasted like.” 

Dean actually lets out a pained laugh at that, because yeah, that sounds like Cas. _Bees are fascinating, Dean._

His soul aches once again. 

“This is a dirty place. Being a human is hard and confusing, and I know there were times that he regretted his decision to come down here. There were some times he thought about death just to get back home. You understand how hard it is, watching your brother feel so much sadness and pain… you know…” 

The oscillating looks of confusion and frustration on Dean’s face irritate Gabriel. His nostrils flare and he takes a breath before continuing, voice gentler than before. 

“My point is that Cassie was a pretty bummed out dude until he met you. That week we spent chasing you up the west coast was the happiest I’ve ever seen him. I don’t mean just on Earth, I mean _ever_ , in the history of _history_ , since the beginning of _time_. I figured he found what he was looking for… like he finally felt what it was he always thought being human would feel like. 

“And then he went and was shipped off to Heaven, confused and probably still trying to process that the feeling he was _feeling_ was happiness. 

“Now,” Gabriel clears his throat, “I’m going to let you deal with that in private,” Gabriel points to the envelope. “If there is ever anything you need Dean,” Gabriel cuts himself off. 

“Thanks, uh, you too.” Although Dean is unsure of what he could offer an angel of Gabriel’s caliber. _Dude. Archangel._ He’s still unable to process everything that Gabriel just said. “Can you, uh, just let me know if you hear anything, from Cas, or about the war?” 

“Will do.” 

“Wait, how do I get in touch with you?” Dean shouts after Gabriel. 

“Arch _angel_ bozo.” And with those words Gabriel disappears from the sidewalk in a flutter of wings. 

Prayer. 

_Fucking angels_ , Dean thinks. 

He lets himself onto the bus and locks the door. 

All he wants to do is read his letter. 

He opens the envelope gently and sets it aside, then unfolds the thick cardstock that was inside. It’s a single page of slanted script in dark blue ink. 

_Dean,_

_I’ve never written a letter before, so forgive me if I get this all wrong._

_Forgive me? Like I have the right to ask your forgiveness for anything._

_When I left you yesterday morning the sun was beginning to rise and you were stunning. I watched over you for some time, trying to drag myself out the door, convincing myself that leaving before you woke would make it all easier somehow._

_I realize now that I was terribly mistaken. Nothing could have made this easier. It was selfish, and I am so desperately sorry. If I could do it again I would have stayed nestled around your warmth until you woke, and then at least tried to explain, but I was afraid._

_You were right when you called me a coward. I am. I have been called back to Heaven for duty in the war, and I’ve never been so scared. Since receiving my call I have spent most of my time trying to forget that soon I will be fighting in a war I don’t believe in for a brother I do not respect. But now, in the hours before I’m set to depart this Earth, the only thing that scares me is that I may never see you again._

_There is a saying I’ve heard before: ‘fight for what you believe in.’ Thanks to you, I now have something to fight for. I have chosen to believe in you, and I will fight my hardest so that someday I can return to Earth and earn your forgiveness. When I’m in the trenches, so to speak, I will think of you. If I begin to lose the will to carry on, I will think of you. You, Dean, will be the light that will guide me back._

_I have spent centuries in Heaven, watching the ever-shifting cosmos and evolutions of planets and time. I watched as that first fish crawled out of the sea with legs made for life on Earth. I watched it with fascination as it morphed and changed, as volcanic eruptions fertilized the landscape and all of the violent revisions your tiny planet went through. I’ve watched black holes explode into even more nothingness. I watched Eve eat the apple, naked in the Garden, juice running down her wrists and a look of pure bliss on her face. I watched the sun set in Heaven before the war._

_I’ve seen a lot of beautiful things, Dean Winchester, but nothing as beautiful as you._

_They took my grace when I came to Earth, but I didn’t need it to see how brightly your soul shines through you. There is no one like you. There has never been anyone like you. Believe me._

_Sincerely,_

_Cas_

Dean reads his letter three times. When he wipes his hands over his face and feels the wetness on his cheeks he’s not surprised. 

“Dammit Cas,” Dean wonders if it counts as a prayer if he starts it with an expletive, but it doesn’t matter anyway because he can’t speak. He only lets out a single shaky breath and then buries his face in his hands. 


	15. Galahad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now what about the stable boys  
> I know you think they're handsome,  
> And some of them they think you're awful handsome too.  
> And sitting up in Heaven  
> You'll still think about them often,  
> When you're an angel thinkin's all that you can do.  
> [-Galahad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wYDw25-RT5U)

**Chapter 15**

This heaven is not how he remembers it. The centuries that Castiel spent here before had provided him with a sense of belonging. It felt clean and safe. Now all he can sense is the fear of an impending attack. 

This isn’t heaven. This is no one’s home. This is only a battlefield. 

The war has been going on for years, and it was obvious. Resources were thinning out on both sides. The battles were smaller and hand-to-hand combat was even more ruthless. Angels were soldiers designed to follow orders but this was complete and utter mind-control by Michael and Raphael. They were conditioning a new race of angel. Many had been killed and only the most cutthroat were left to be brainwashed and used against each other. 

This is who Castiel would have been up against if he hadn’t failed miserably during his entrance trials and training. 

He was seen as unfit for the front lines as well as for the guerrilla battalions, which came as a relief. He hoped briefly that they’d send him back to Earth since they didn’t have much use for him here, but that dream was short-lived. 

Instead, he was assigned to Grace Acquisition, a position often referred to as The Magpie, where he’d follow around combat medics and collect the grace of angels just before they’d die. 

At first he was grateful to avoid the battle, but after his first few forays into the field he realized how horrible The Magpie was in its own right. It wasn’t natural for an angel to acquire another angel’s grace no matter the circumstances. 

It was cruel. He’d observe as the medics would try to save an angel and wait for the lead to signal to him: a tap over their heart meant an angel would recover and Castiel’s services were not needed, but a tap on their throat meant Castiel was needed immediately. He would come with his blade, cut a small incision in the angel’s throat, and collect the grace in a vial while the angel took their final breaths. 

He was acutely aware that he was the last face these angels saw before they died. 

Castiel always tried to make the cuts as small and painless as possible, and he always said a short prayer to himself while collecting the grace. The vials were kept in a warded satchel worn around his chest, and it was his responsibility to keep them protected until his garrison could make it back to base for redistribution, which was a twisted process and he didn’t like to think about it. 

Castiel understood why this was done and why his post is so important, but an angel’s grace was their essence. It would never seem right to take it. 

Anna, on the other hand, proved to be an incredible fighter during their entrance trials and she was sent to fight with a small group of guerrilla angels in an ‘undisclosed location.’ Castiel lived in constant fear that he’d find her on the field and his lead medic would tap their throat. What would he do then? 

“You take my grace and keep it yourself. I trust you with it.” She had whispered in his ear as they hugged before they parted ways. 

Castiel promised her that he would keep it if it ever came to that. It could have been a lie. He hoped he’d never have to find out. 

There wasn’t time to dwell on that right now – Castiel and his charge had just been attacked. Two medics were mortally wounded, and Castiel was chased away before he could collect their grace. Castiel was still working some kinks out of his wings after years of disuse, so when he tried to fly away he crashed and lost the other two vials of grace they had collected that day. 

He had failed his mission. The grace of four angels had been passed over to Raphael and the opposition and it was Castiel’s fault. 

This was the first time he was thankful for how numb Heaven had made him. He’d admitted what a relief it was to get his grace back, but since then only guilt and anger were strong enough to seep through the stupor of being an angel. Fortunately for him, sorrow and loneliness had yet to sneak through. 

Castiel was wandering with his remaining medics, most of them in a slight daze while looking for ways to be helpful, but they were alone now, and no injured or dead angels were anywhere to be found. The youngest in his charge, Samandriel, seemed to be the most shaken after the attack. He reminded Castiel a lot of himself, timid and unsure, and he wanted to be a brave presence for the young angel. 

They were not supposed to speak as their voices could be traced and tracked, but Castiel offered silent support by walking shoulder to shoulder with the younger angel. Samandriel walked with the posture and expression of faux determination. Castiel knew that look. It’s the look he himself wore often. 

The only sound is the crunch of dirt and leaves under their feet as they walk. Occasionally there is a rustle of wind through the trees, but it never sounds as gritty and untamed as it did on Earth, like even the wind is under Michael’s command. Everything sounds larger but less important. Castiel’s grace made him extraordinarily cognizant of exactly what was in the trees in Heaven: how many leaves were on each branch, how many were falling, how there wasn’t a single living organism in the forest besides the angels. The forest they wandered through was dying from the war. It reminded him a lot of the autumnal months on Earth without the beauty or the glow or the scent and crisp bite to the air. This was just death manifested as a manicured landscape. 

Castiel misses feeling the changing seasons. He misses Earth. He misses so many things. 

He misses Dean. 

But he isn’t allowed to think of Dean. Not yet. He hasn’t earned that right yet, so once again he finds himself forcing his thoughts elsewhere, like to Gabriel, whom he also misses terribly, and Anna, because his constant worry for her easily subsumes all other thoughts. 

“ _Cas?_ ” 

Castiel’s body locks-up instantly when he hears his name and his garrison stops with him, silently prodding for a hint as to what caused him to seize up without warning. Did he just hear an angel calling them for help? Were they needed somewhere? 

But… only one person calls him Cas. 

Only one person has _ever_ called him Cas. 

Then there is nothing but silence so Castiel shakes his head and they continue until… 

“ _Cas, you there?”_

He doesn’t hear it so much as feel it this time, like a cooling sensation creeping up his spine and then shooting out across both wings. 

“ _I really wish I could tell if you’re gettin’ this or if I’m just talking to the ceiling._ ” 

Dean. 

Dean was praying to him. 

“ _Uh, this is weird. Gabriel was just here. Told me I could pray if I wanted to talk to you. He coulda been bullshitting me, I don’t know. He mojo’d a bunch a fans away from the bus…”_

Gabriel got the letter to Dean! Castiel willed him to keep talking, waiting with bated breath and his heart pounding so hard he was worried it’d give him away. If Dean could hear him it would definitely have been considered begging. 

_“Now just because I’m prayin’ doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed at you, but I wanted you to know that I understand, you know, being afraid.”_

The outright joy Castiel feels at that moment is so pure he could fall to his knees, but he doesn’t as the fear of drawing any attention to his garrison keeps his feet moving at a steady pace. 

_“But damn I wish you woulda told me. I’ve been so pissed off. I thought you left just ‘cuz. Not like it woulda been the first time someone took off in the morning and hell, I’ve done it too, but… I donno, Cas, something was different, right? I mean, judging by your letter I’d say it was different for you too? I just, I donno, man.”_

Relief rushes through his bones and over his skin, each word soothing him like a balm to his wounds. 

_“I got your letter. I, uh, thanks. It was… it helped. But you should know that Gabe read it. I think he used x-ray vision or somethin’.”_

Castiel could remember every word he had written. He’d wanted so badly to give Dean some kind of peace. Castiel never imagined that Dean would reciprocate. 

_“And I forgive you.”_

The words pulse throughout his wings like a heartbeat. 

_“I forgive you Cas, but if it makes you fight harder thinking that I don’t, well then just know you’ve got a lot of making up to do. So, just get back here, okay?”_

While it was true that Castiel was full angel again, his grace putting a damper on what would have been an otherwise totally overwhelming experience, the raw human emotion he felt right then was almost enough to drive him to tears. 

_“Dammit Cas just come back.”_


	16. Appleblossom Rag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, that appleblossom rag  
> Lord, I'm such a fool  
> For things that sing so sweet and sad  
> And are so goddamn cruel  
> [-Appleblossom Rag](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FhGks0-u0h0)

****Chapter 16  


The endless days went on. Castiel’s garrison worked to save as many angels as they could. He used the grace he collected from the fallen to help heal the wounded and it made him feel better about his capabilities and responsibility in the war. He only wanted to do good. Why was it so hard to do good in heaven of all places? 

Samandriel was killed during a routine check of the fields. A soldier of Raphael’s used a wounded angel as bait and attacked them the moment they arrived. Samandriel was stabbed in the back before the angel flew off. They couldn’t save the wounded either and Castiel added two more vials to his satchel. He closed Samandriel’s eyes thinking it might make him look like he was sleeping. 

Angels don’t sleep. He just looked dead. 

Castiel knew that his garrison was being hunted because of what was in his satchel. He knew that everyone be safer if he left them, that the enemy wanted _his_ collection to use. He couldn’t imagine that they didn’t have their own group of medics going around collecting grace of their own, but everyone was so greedy. 

Castiel didn’t want to be greedy. He was just protective. 

The work was constant and they days in Heaven were long, and Dean prayed to him regularly. Sometimes it was something short and meaningless, like _“Bobby took a wrong turn and we accidentally ended up in Mexico. Cas, if we ever go to Mexico remind me not to eat the worm.”_ Castiel likes those prayers because there’s something comforting knowing that life is going on as it should down below him. Below the chaos and suffering he was witnessing Dean was going about his life. 

Yes, this was a comforting thought. 

_“We’re in Minneapolis and its damn cold.”_

_“The show tonight was fucking awesome! Three encores, Cas! I’m so pumped!”_

_“I don’t know what to do with my time off. How do people relax? Maybe I should learn to fish.”_

_“I got the flu and we had to change the set to all songs that sound good in a bluesy voice ‘cause my voice is pretty much shot to shit right now.”_

_“Flat tire in the middle of nowhere Tennessee. AAA will be here in three hours. Could really use some angel mojo right about now.”_

_“Home in Lawrence for a few weeks. I forgot what sleeping in my own bed was like.”_

Occasionally Dean’s prayers were desperate. These were bittersweet. They’d make Castiel realize how often Dean thought of him, but Castiel got so frustrated that he couldn’t answer he’d feel ill. He could imagine Dean being drunk or horny or coming down from his high after a show. He wanted to comfort Dean in some way, but he couldn’t. He could only listen as Dean shared some intimate moments, his secrets, his desires… 

Castiel loved it when Dean told him secrets, like about that time with Rhonda Hurley and those pink lacy underpants, or when he cried himself to sleep for a week after he had to drop out of high school, or how they took a bus everywhere because he absolutely hated flying. He talked openly about his father’s drinking and how Benny was the first guy he’d ever been with _but it isn’t weird now_. 

Castiel didn’t even mind it when Dean confessed to bringing someone back to his room after a show, especially since he always apologized to Castiel once afterwards. 

A couple of times Dean had even prayed to Castiel _during_ his post-show escapades. It was heartbreaking listening to Dean’s distress as he climaxed while praying _“I’m sorry I’m sorry fuck I’m sorry.”_

Those didn’t bother Castiel at all, and he’d gotten good at multitasking and not letting a prayer startle him from whatever he was doing. 

There was one prayer that did hurt, and it always went something like, _“I need you, Cas. When are you coming back?”_

He couldn’t answer that. Not just because he didn’t have an answer, but he also couldn’t pray back to Dean and explain that he didn’t know. 

Time, of course, was a loose concept in Heaven, but Castiel had tried to use Dean’s prayers as a type of calendar. If he mentioned “tonight’s show” than he figured that it was probably night, and if Dean mentioned the bus it was probably day. It was a lax calendar, but it was something. Judging by this, Castiel thought that he’d been in Heaven for almost a year, Earth-time, maybe. 

He was desperate, and he went against protocol. He knew if he was careful that no one would find out and the thrill of just the possibility of getting a message to Dean was enough. 

He prayed hard and silent, trying not to attract any attention. Outgoing prayers could shoot up like a beacon if not controlled properly. He kept it brief and to the point. 

_Gabriel, I am alive. I am the Magpie, and I haven’t seen Anna. Tell Dean to keep praying. I miss you, brother._

Gabriel’s response was immediate. 

“ _It’s good to hear from you little bro. Anna is fine and kicking ass apparently, the way she tells it. Magpie is a good job for you. I’ll go see Dean right now and let him know not to stop. Keep fighting, brother, and stay safe.”_


	17. Joy to You Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I go to the parties  
> Throw my hands in the air  
> I drink what they pour me  
> The cups of who cares  
> And I go up in the night sky  
> Up in the clouds  
> Fly over the houses  
> I'm looking down  
> Joy to the city  
> Joy to the streets  
> Joy to you baby  
> Wherever you sleep tonight  
> [-Joy to You Baby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ERKTxjSj4k)

**Chapter 17**

This time when Gabriel popped up on the tour bus Dean was relieved to see him, even though it freaked the fuck out of everyone else. If Bobby didn’t have nerves of steel then the loud _whuffpuff_ and gust of wind may have careened them off the road. 

“Sorry for the intrusion. Hey babe.” Gabriel winks at Jo. 

“What the hell is he doing back there?” Bobby shouts back from the cockpit while somehow maintaining a smooth 75 miles an hour down the interstate. 

“Everybody shut up. Gabe, what’s going on? Is Cas okay?” Dean stands directly in front of Gabriel. The look in his eye letting him know that now is no time for tricks. 

“Yes, he’s fine.” Gabriel says, and Dean takes a deep breath and wipes his face, then scratches at his neck nervously. 

“Good. Okay. That’s good.” He clears his throat, aware of everyone staring at him. 

“He’s not actually fighting. He’s what they call The Magpie.” 

“Magpie? What’s that mean?” 

“He follows the medics around and sucks the grace out of dying angels. It’s a good job for him actually. He’s always been very protective. I’m sure he’s a great Mag. And it means he’s far from the front lines.” 

Dean wants to say _thank God_ but at this point he knows better. 

Gabriel continues, “He also wanted me to tell you to keep praying.” 

“He can hear me?” 

“Sounds like it. He was strong enough to shoot me a quick one, which means someone has been praying to him _often.”_

“Every night.” Dean says. 

“And during most of the day,” Chuck adds. 

“And in his sleep.” Kevin looks up at Dean from his computer. “You talk in your sleep. It’s been hell.” 

“Well keep it up, Winchester. I’ll let you know when I hear from him next. Archangel, _out!_ ” and with another loud _whuffpuff_ Gabriel is gone. 

It was the lift that Dean needed; knowing that Cas was still up there and could actually hear him… Cas was alive and hearing his prayers. 

The show in Boise that night was their best in months, and he was _almost_ back to natural, charismatic, and energetic Dean, and it _almost_ felt right again. They did two encores as planned and then disappeared backstage. He drank beers with the band and genuinely laughed a few times. He signed over fifty autographs and smiled for pictures. He hugged his fans. 

But then he got an idea for a song in his head and began to panic because if he didn’t get it out it might eat him alive. 

“Excuse me, can I...?” he asked one of the girls who was asking him to sign her poster, and before she could answer he had her turned around and was using her back as a surface to scribble over the venue’s “One Night Only – Dean Winchester!” poster in Sharpie; 

_Even on the phone, you're eight hours from my time  
Wish I could hold you in my arms like I hold you in my mind _

He continued to scratch out lyrics on the glossy poster until it was covered. 

“Uh, you can keep this, but let me take a picture of it first.” 

Dean snapped a picture of the lyrics and then signed his name at the bottom. In about two minutes he had written yet another stupid, sappy song for Cas and possibly come up with the best idea he’s ever had. 

And the girl whose poster he had effectively ruined was ecstatic that she had just played easel to Dean’s creative process. 

Two nights later at the show in Salt Lake City he was ready to debut Cas’ new song during his acoustic set while the rest of the band took a breather. 

“We’re going to do something different tonight, if y’all don’t mind,” he told the audience while plucking at his favorite, worn-out acoustic guitar he called Red. “I’ve got a new song and I just finished it yesterday, so you won’t know it. I don’t really even know it yet, but I wanted to try it out here and, uh, and it’s a very important song to me. I wrote it about someone I met about a while back who I care about, um, a lot.” 

A few folks whistle and shout. 

“And, uh, they’re not here. How many of you know ‘bout the war going on upstairs? Quite a few? Okay, that’s cool.” Dean smiles as a lot of people in the crowd mumble and nod or shout in response. “Well this someone I met is up there, he’s uh, a soldier, and occasionally I’ll pray to him because it’s the only way I can talk to him.” 

There’s a low resounding _awww_ sound that makes Dean grimace. 

“Yeah yeah,” he rolls his eyes and grins. “Anyway, I wrote this song for an angel. His name’s Cas, uh, Castiel. I call him Cas.” Another _awww_ from the crowd and he’s not even sure why, “so, uh Cas, you got your ears on? I wrote you a song, and I’m playin’ it on stage right now. Everyone says ‘hey’.” 

Dean pretends like he’s got Cas on speakerphone. Like broadcasting a live song with hundreds of screaming fans directly into the ear of an angel fighting a war in Heaven is completely normal. 

The crowd cheers as he begins to play. Somebody yells “Hi Cas!” and Dean wonders if this was a bad idea. He’s not even sure if Cas can hear them, or if he can hear the guitar, but he begins to sing because now he knows that at least the words will get through. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Peter Killed the Dragon by Josh Ritter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wt0MYJ80MvA)


	18. Birds of the Meadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honey, I'm a wild one and I'm dressed in rags  
> I roll you over, turn your bedside up, yeah  
> Before the whole thing's over, you're gonna shout my name  
> I don't care if you believe me  
> [-Birds of the Meadow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVtQBgN_bPs)

**Chapter 18**

The first time Castiel hears Dean sing to him he is sitting in the dirt against a tree. Castiel’s arm has been cut open and he is resting, trying to ignore the sharp, bright pain and heal himself, restore his grace, and pull himself together. This would be a good time for a nap if for no other reason than to take his mind off the pain in his arm and maybe forget about all that comes with being an angel for a little while. From his time as a human he can remember what being tired felt like and how good it felt to sleep, but he’s not allowed that luxury because angels don’t get to feel tired and they sure as hell don’t get to sleep. 

He remembers how scary it was to fall asleep for the first time. 

He also remembers what it was like falling asleep with Dean. 

That was the last time he had actually slept. 

The two remaining medics left in his garrison work on healing a few angels wounded much more gravely than he. Castiel attentively watches the quick but precise movements of their hands as they heal the inured, hoping he would not see those hands point toward their neck, indicating that his service is needed. 

He wants to help, he wants to be useful and not just collect grace when it’s too late, but he’s learned that he’s usually more of a hindrance than help. When a fallen angel sees him, Michael’s storied and stony-faced Magpie, they begin to panic, making the medics’ job that much more difficult. So he stands back, waiting off to the side. 

When it looks like the injured soldiers are going to pull through, Castiel leans back and rests his head against the solid tree trunk. He closes his eyes for a moment, focusing his fitful, tired grace on healing the deep puncture below his shoulder. 

That’s when he hears Dean starts to pray. 

_“Cas, you got your ears on?”_

That was such a supremely Dean thing to say and it makes Castiel smile. Sure, no one would be able to perceive his smile if they looked at him right now, but he can feel it. It’s such a foreign thing, and maybe it’s just that, a _thing_ \- a feeling - not even a real smile. 

_“I wrote you a song, and I’m playin’ it on stage right now. Everyone says hey.”_

And then Dean begins to sing and it is overwhelming to say the least. Castiel’s wings feel lighter than they have in months. Right now, infinitely below him, Dean is singing a song for him, to him, on stage, in front of hundreds of people. 

With his eyes still closed, Castiel imagines what Dean might look like right now under the lights, hunched over a guitar, his soft lips butting against the microphone. 

Castiel tunes out everything around him and listens, allowing the sound of Dean’s voice to wash over him and into him – though his veins, through his wings, through his wound. He can feel the wound tingle like it is cleaning itself, Dean’s lyrics acting as a healing agent, antiseptic and bandage all in one. 

All while simultaneously trying to heal Castiel’s spirit. 

His spirit is more broken than his body, and it’s going to take a lot more than a love song to fix it, but this is a start, and for the first time in however-long Castiel feels something resembling _hope._

He refuses to open his eyes until minutes after the song is over, pitifully hoping that maybe he can hear the next song, and maybe the one after that. He wishes that he could hear Dean all the time, like a radio station on in the background as comforting white noise. He wants so desperately to know what song Dean plays next, but as soon as his song was over everything went silent. 

Finally he opens his eyes to look down at his wound. 

A few minutes ago it was open and oozing black goo and blood, the dull blue glow of his grace illuminating through the breach in his flesh. 

Now it is healed – not even a scar. 

_Thank you, Dean._

He shouldn’t depend on Dean’s prayers the way he does – he doesn’t want to think about what will happen when this stops. And it will stop. Heavenly battles can go on for eons, and Castiel knows that eventually, for one reason or another, Dean will stop praying. 

He hopes he is dead before that happens. 

Finally his medics have completed their work on the injured soldiers and they are ready to continue on, which is a relief because Castiel is worried where his thoughts would lead if he’s left idle for much longer. 

He feels _doubt_ and _fear_ and _frustration_ and _exhaustion_. It’s as if his mind remembers what these all mean but refuses to help him process the emotions. 

Angels weren’t supposed to _feel_ in Heaven. Not like this, anyway. It wasn’t how they were programmed. 

Maybe he was still a little human. Maybe his body was keeping some part of him human so that when he got back he would be able to function as a human. Maybe his body knew something he didn’t know. Maybe Dean’s prayers were keeping him human – keeping him primed and ready to return to Earth. 

Or, maybe Castiel is going a little psychotic.

Time went on… 

and on… 

and on… 

and on… 

And Dean kept singing to him. 

It was a relief when he’d hear Dean begin to sing because that meant the last time wasn’t really _the_ _last time_. 

Some songs he’d recognize and others were new. Some of the songs were written about him and they’d make him blush, and his comrades would look at him and wonder how they got stuck with such a strange Mag. 

And with every song Dean sang the weight of the grace Castiel carried seemed lighter and lighter. His battle scars faded. His despair ebbed. He felt stronger, braver, like a soldier with hope. He began to feel like he could fight – like he’d chosen his own position in this war. 

It was strange, and he thought that maybe it was Michael who was influencing him, that he really was falling for the brainwashing extremism of his elder brother. 

Then Castiel would hear Dean sing and he’d feel that surge of hope and strength again. 

He wasn’t being conditioned to be a mindless war machine by his brother, but he was being encouraged to be a soldier – to be brave and to fight – and it really was Dean’s influence that was going to save him. 

Yes. He had always been a soldier, but now he was stronger and he could _think_ for himself. He could _feel_. He could _wish_ and _love_ and he knew something besides duty. He was no longer numb. 

He was an angel with free will – with hope and desire and guilt and faith. 

He also felt terribly human, and that was a terrifying thing to be in Heaven. 

Then the last angel in Castiel’s garrison was killed by a solo assassin and Castiel was alone. 

He was human, and he was alone. 

And Dean kept singing. 

How he was the last one left from his wandering group of medics he may never understand. 

The only thing he knew for sure was that he was now a walking target with a satchel full of grace, a single angel blade, and something beautiful on Earth that he needed to get back to. 

Castiel was going to end this war if it fucking killed him. 


	19. Leaves and Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So now we're going back again to start where we began  
> With rules and regulations but no real kind of plan  
> I've learned my lesson well with no mistakes at all  
> Once you find yourself true love you just keep holding on  
> [-Leaves and Kings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Anu_2SgL4Tg)

**Chapter 19**

It’s the loud crash coming from downstairs that wakes Dean from his deep sleep, and it’s the very human-like groan that makes his blood run cold. 

Someone is in his house. 

Dean grabs his father’s pistol from the nightstand drawer and quietly pads his way down the steps, blood pumping in his ears so loudly he’s afraid it will give him away. He takes a silent breath through his nose to collect himself before rounding the corner, but before he can work up the nerve to move he hears a whimper and a short hiss of breath, then a thump, and then silence. 

When Dean peeks around the corner he doesn’t even notice the upturned La-Z-Boy recliner or broken coffee table or the broken window. No, Dean sees none of that because the only thing he can see are the two giant, disheveled, and misshapen black wings and an unconscious angel lying on the living room floor. 

“Cas!” 

He’s not sure if he screamed the name or even said it aloud at all, but Dean drops the gun and runs to the angel’s side, collapsing to his knees and carefully rolling Cas onto his back, mindful of the wings that protectively tuck themselves back into Cas with a few horrible cracking sounds. 

“Oh Cas oh okay okay come on man wake up okay…” Dean tries to think rationally but too many thoughts are flying through his head. _Do I call 911? Is he breathing? Why is he bleeding? Wake up so I can kiss you, jackass. Cas is back oh my god Cas is back. How do you fix an angel? Where the hell is all this blood coming from!?_

He holds Cas’ face in his hands, running his thumbs lightly along his cheekbones, taking half a second to comprehend that _holy shit_ _Cas is back_. He’s here, he’s _right here_ , and his face is so peaceful but he’s hurt. There is blood around his nose and mouth and his ears too. 

He stills himself, feeling for a pulse or breath or anything to indicate that Cas is alive. He feels both and is relieved, but only slightly. 

“Cas,” he taps lightly at Cas’ cheeks, “come on man, wake up, hey hey hey no no no come on Cas. Cas! _Cas!_ ” The break in his voice makes him feel weak, helpless. Dean wonders where his cell phone is, thinking now might be a good time to call 911, when there’s a gasp from Castiel’s lips and a dry, sputtering cough. 

“Cas!” he pulls Castiel into his lap. It’s awkward because Cas is coughing and his wings are all fucked up but Dean needs to be as close to him as possible, willing him to be alright. As the coughing subsides, Cas looks up at Dean with those blue eyes he hasn’t seen in so long. 

“Dean-” he croaks out, softly, before his body seizes with another coughing fit. 

“Yeah, man. Hey,” Dean feels his hands trembling and realizes that his entire body is actually shaking. “What happened? What can I do to help? Are you gonna be okay? What do you need?” Dean asks too many questions in succession and Cas shakes his head. 

“Water...” is all Cas can say. 

“Okay, okay, lean up onto this,” Dean tries to prop Cas against the couch so he’s sitting up and not laying back on his wings. Cas groans, a loud, pained sound as he is moved. “It’s gonna be alright, Cas, it’s gonna…” he’s not even sure if he believes the words, but he needs Cas to believe it. “I’m gonna get you water, be right back,” and as soon as Castiel is off of Dean’s legs he jumps up and sprints upstairs to get his cell phone, then to the kitchen to fill a large plastic cup with water. 

When he gets back to the living room Cas is still laying with his head on the cushion of the couch, his eyes wide and intense, but they soften just slightly when they’re able to focus on Dean. 

“Okay, water. Here, sit up a little,” Dean helps pull Cas up off the cushion and pulls him against his own chest, then holds the cup to his lips, slowly tipping it until Cas drinks the entire thing and leans back against Dean, gasping. Dean sets the empty cup on the floor and starts stroking Castiel’s hair, something his mother did to soothe him when he was sick as a kid. 

Without moving anything but his arm, Dean feels around to his pocket for his phone. He continues to whisper soothing words into Cas’ temple while dialing 911\. “It’s gonna be okay,” unsure of whether he’s speaking more to Cas or himself, “it’s alright now. It’s going to be okay Cas. You’re okay.” 

There doesn’t seem to be much blood after all, the stains of it on Cas’ clothes seem to be dried, like they’ve been there for a while. The blood on Dean’s hands is from the blood on Cas’ face, which also seems to be drying now and not still flowing. 

“911 what is your emergency?” says the curt voice on the other end of the line. 

“Everything hurts,” Castiel’s voice is small, near childish, and he tries to curl in on himself. Dean watches him unfurl his wings slightly, trying to cover himself up, but then he cries out and lies back again. It breaks Dean’s heart. 

“Shhhh Cas I know. It’s going to be okay.” 

“911, is anybody there?” the voice speaks again. 

“Yeah, an angel crash landed in my living room. He’s hurt bad. He needs help.” 

“Is he conscious, sir? Is he breathing?” 

“Yeah, both. He’s, uh, _Cas, come on man stay awake,_ bleeding, and his wings are hurt, and he’s not looking good _CAS open your eyes!”_

“Stay calm, sir, and keep him awake. We’ve dispatched an ambulance, they will be there shortly. Stay on the line.” Dean keeps the phone to his ear but keeps talking to Cas instead. 

“Cas, help is comin’. Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay.” 

“Dean I’m so tired,” Cas isn’t crying, but he’s close to it. 

“I know, and you’ll get to sleep soon but you gotta stay awake right now. You gotta do that for me.” 

Finally Dean hears sirens in the distance that seem to be getting closer and closer until someone knocks hard on the door. Dean gets up to answer it and then everything happens in a flash: paramedics swarm his living room with a gurney and red boxes full of tools Dean doesn’t understand. He can’t see Cas for the amount of people huddled around the angel – _his angel_. They had Cas on the stretcher and out the door so quickly that Dean could hardly follow what was happening. It was then that he realized he still had the phone to his ear and the line was dead. 

One person stayed behind, a tall, Ichabod Crane-looking guy who was giving Dean a big, kind smile. 

“You’re Dean Winchester,” the man said, holding a clipboard under his arm and a red pouch with white wings on it in his other hand. 

“Uh, yeah.” Dean was about scream – his angel had been taken away from him _again_ only minutes after returning, and this guy wanted to have a fangirl moment? 

“So that must be Castiel?” 

“Yeah, how do you…” Dean feels his jaw clench in frustration. 

“I’m a fan. A big fan. Now come along, we’re going to get you to the hospital cuz when that angel wakes up I think he’s gonna want to see you. I’ll drive you. C’mon.” 

Dean softens his angry-face when the man touches his arm and gently leads Dean out the door, assuring that Dean has grabbed his keys and locked the door behind them like he’s done this a thousand times before. 

“I’m Garth, by the way.” 

“Thanks, uh, Garth. Is Cas going to be okay? What the hell happened to him?” 

“Not sure. He’s pretty dinged up, probably some broken bones, and his wings are a wreck, but he was alert. I don’t think you’ve got too much to worry about though.” 

Garth calmly talks Dean down the whole way to the hospital while gently maneuvering his cop car through red lights and illegal turns, flipping on the siren and lights if anyone gets in their way. If Dean hadn’t been so worked up he would have really appreciated the finesse this weirdo had behind the wheel. 

At the hospital Dean is made to sit in the waiting room for hours until the sun is up and bright before he’s allowed in to see Cas. Even then, the nurses are skeptical that anyone should be allowed to poke around in the room of an injured, unmarried angel, but with Garth’s persistence and Dean’s pouty face they’re able to talk the three angel nurses into letting Dean in. 

Cas was asleep by the time Dean finally made it into the room. The only light came from what was able to leak in around the tightly closed blinds. The hospital bed was designed specifically for angels, and Cas’ wings fall through two indentations and are supported by a soft platform underneath the bed. There are various bandages and wraps on his arms, neck, and wings, and his face is bruised, but he looks calm, still, and peaceful. The only machine he's hooked up to is the IV pump, and he’s breathing on his own. That's a good sign. 

That means Cas is going to be okay, right? 

Dean slumps down in the chair next to the bed in exhausted relief. 

He wonders if Gabriel knows yet. 

“Gabriel, Cas is back. We’re in room 306 at the Lawrence Memorial…” 

_Whuffwoosh_

“… Hospital.” 

“Dean-o, what the hell happened?” The soft expression on Gabriel’s face is a welcome surprise because Dean’s not sure if he could take any of the guy’s sarcasm right now. 

“I donno, man. I heard a thump last night, went downstairs to check it out and he’s lyin’ on the floor. I got him up, he drank some water and started acting all loopy and here we are.” 

“Did he say anything?” Gabriel stands above Cas looking him slowly up and down. 

“Uh, he said my name. And then ‘water,’ and then ‘everything hurts’ and then he kept saying how tired he was.” 

Gabriel lightly touches Cas’ arm and closes his eyes. 

“Everything does hurt. He is very broken. He must have fallen.” 

“Fallen? What, from like, Heaven?” 

“But, how…” Gabriel doesn’t finish his thought, and instead touches Cas on the forehead, lightly. Nothing happens, but Gabriel is pleased. “He’ll be out for a while so I can work on him. I recommend you get some z’s Dean-o because this could take some time.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The doctors did the best they could, but I think our little Casanova here could use some actual angelic healin’ mojo.” 

“I ain’t sleeping ‘till he wakes up,” Dean states defiantly but unconvincingly as he stifles a yawn. 

“Fine, then make yourself useful and let me know if anyone is about to walk in so I can vamoose.” 

“Fine.” 

The dim hospital room is silent while Dean watches Gabriel doing _something_ to Castiel. The older angel stands over his brother, eyes closed and fingers pressing on different parts of Cas’ torso. Gabriel works, like he said, for a long while, until Dean’s cell begins to vibrate in his pocket. 

“Take it outside.” Gabriel states calmly, eyes still closed. Dean steps into the hall and closes the door behind him before answering. 

“Hey Sammy,” 

“Dude, where are you? What the hell?” 

“What?” 

“We’re at your house. The place looks like it’s been ransacked. Are you okay?” 

“Oh,” Dean didn’t even remember that it was the 4th of July and that Sammy, Jess and the kids were coming over for a barbeque and fireworks. Sammy must have let himself in with the hide-a-key. “Yeah, man, I’m fine. There was an incident last night, but it’s okay now, I think.” 

“An _incident_? Care to elaborate? Maybe explain why I just found dad's gun on the floor?” 

“Cas is back. We’re at the hospital.” 

“Wait, you mean _Cas Cas_?” 

“Yup.” 

“Cas is back?” 

"Yup." 

"And what, you _shot_ him?" 

“What? No! He crash landed in the living room.” 

“Is he alright?” 

“He’s gonna be, I think. His brother is here, doing, uh, something…” Dean doesn’t want to say it too loudly as the hallway is full of nurses and doctors and people that he’s pretty sure Gabriel wouldn’t want walking in right now. “He’s pretty messed up,” Dean takes a breath and even smiles slightly, “but he’s back.” 

“That’s huge, Dean.” Sammy mutters something to Jess and he hears “thank god” from the background. “How are you holding up? Want me to come to the hospital? Do you need anything?” 

“No man, it’s fine.” 

“Jess has started cleaning your house.” 

“Tell her to knock it off.” 

“ _Dean says his porn is hidden in the trunk under the TV._ ” 

“Fuck off. How do you even know that?” 

“Because that’s where I hide mine. Sure you don’t need anything?” 

“I’m sure. I’ll call you if anything comes up.” 

“Alright. Ugh, Jess says I have to go help.” 

“Damn right bitch, go clean my house.” 

“I hate you.” 

“Love you too Sammy.” 

Dean hangs up and finally feels like everything might be okay. 

Cas is back. 

Finally. 


	20. In the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We saw the wrecks of buildings  
> And ships that sank in starlight  
> We saw the ghosts of angels  
> That spoke of falls from tremendous heights  
> [-In the Dark](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rz16SPjmKjs)

**Chapter 20**

Everything is way too bright when Castiel opens his eyes. He’s sore and stiff and his clothes feel scratchy and he’s starving. 

“Hey there little bro,” Gabriel is sitting in a chair to his left. 

“Where’s Dean?” he croaks. 

“It’s good to see you too! So glad you’re not dead.” 

“I feel like I’m dead.” 

“That you can even feel like you are dead is proof that you are, in fact, not dead.” 

“Gabriel…” 

“I kicked Dean out. He’d been awake since you went crashing into his house two nights ago so I sent him and his guitar packing. He did _not_ go peacefully, the stubborn ass.” 

“He was playing guitar?” 

“Yeah. For hours. I think he played Stairway to Heaven like, twelve times.” 

Castiel hums in approval and Gabriel rolls his eyes but smiles at his brother. 

“It’s good to see you, Castiel.” 

Castiel nods and tries to ignore the sting behind his eyes and the hitch in his breath when Gabriel grips his hand. A few teardrops roll down his cheeks. His body is literally overflowing with emotions he isn’t prepared to deal with yet. He allows himself a moment to savor the feeling, _this_ feeling, of being stripped raw – of being so completely human – before wiping the tears away with the back of his hand. 

“So,” Gabriel continues after taking a deep breath and releasing Castiel’s hand, “are you going to tell me why I had to piece you back together? The trauma in your bones alone was enough to see that you were as scrambled as a puzzle box and then reassembled hastily. A bunch of pieces were still out of place… hell, little bro, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that you’re alive, but there’s really no explanation as to why you are.” 

As Gabriel speaks Castiel tries to make sense out of what happened with the inconsiderable shards of memories he can recall from his fall and the moments before it. 

“The last thing I remember is running from a group of angels. I was alone, and I had my satchel full of grace and they wanted it,” Castiel has a slight momentary panic and subtly pats at his right side where his satchel always fell on him. The bag is gone, of course, but its weight is something he’ll remember forever. 

“And then…” Gabriel probes after an extended silence. 

“And then I…” he closes his eyes, trying so hard to remember, “I remember the pain. And a bright light.” 

“How cliché,” Gabriel remarks. 

Castiel also remembers seeing someone else, someone familiar and very out-of-place. _But that doesn’t make sense._ Why would _he_ be there? And how…? That was impossible. He could swear that the man was _human_ … and Dean... did he know? That wasn't possible... 

“Is there something else you’d like to share with the class?” 

“No, I- I’m sorry. I can’t remember anything else.” He lies. 

“Well, whatever happened, someone up there must like you.” 

“Does that seem, I mean, do you think… could that be possible?” Castiel’s voice is small like a child’s but he doesn’t care. 

“No.” Gabriel is serious. “Dad is dead, or at least he better be because there’s no other excuse for his complete lack of interest in the fact that his kids are fucking killing each other.” 

Castiel makes an noncommittal noise at that and decides not to tell Gabriel about the last thing he remembers even though it might be the most important piece of the puzzle. 

Instead he settles back against the bed, his wings relaxing onto the padded trestle beneath him. His wings would heal. He was back on Earth. Gabriel was here. Dean was close. So many things were happening and all Castiel could do was fall asleep again. 

When he woke again it was dark in the room and it looked to be dark outside too. There was a figure slumped over in the chair Gabriel had been in but it clearly wasn’t Gabriel. 

It was a sleeping Dean. 

He had his arms crossed over his chest and was slumped deep down the seat, head lolling onto his shoulder. His lips were parted slightly, allowing for the little breathy snores to escape. 

The last time he had seen Dean, however long ago that was, he had been sleeping. Castiel remembers walking down the bright hotel hallway and away from Dean. Even with everything that had happened between then and now, all the things he had been through, he had not forgotten the guilt for leaving Dean like that. He never forgot what it was like being in Dean’s presence and how terribly it hurt to walk away from that. 

He’s tempted to think that he’d take the pain from the war and the fall over the pain of what leaving Dean did to him, but he’s not sure about that. Even after days in the hospital, morphine, and Gabriel’s grace, he still feels terrible. 

It was mainly his wings that were suffering now. He tried to extend one, move it up slightly in Dean’s direction, but it sent a sharp jolt of pain up into his spine and he groaned and pulled it back. He felt very exposed with his wings draped open on the ledge below him, but it felt better than the pressure of laying on them. 

“Hmmpf. Cas? You up?” Dean shifted in his seat, sitting up and groaning when his back popped. 

“Dean.” It’s Dean. He’s right there. “Yes, yes I’m up. Are you alright?” 

“Am _I_ alright? I’m not the one who just fell out of Heaven.” Dean laugh sounds nervous and Castiel only stares at him. He never forgot how stunningly gorgeous Dean is. “Yeah, Cas, I’m alright. I’m great. I’m-I’m better than great. How 'bout you? I mean, how are you feeling?” 

“Hungry.” He says, pathetically. He should thank Dean for praying to him every day, and for singing and having faith. He should tell him how much he missed him, how sorry he is for leaving, how Dean was on his mind for every moment of the infinity he spent in Heaven. He should say something, anything besides _hungry_ ,but Dean is already standing up. 

“I’ma see if I can find you some grub. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t, uh, don’t go anywhere.” 

Castiel isn’t sure if that’s a joke or not, so he says, “I won’t.” 

Dean leans over and kisses him on the forehead, nuzzling into his hair and lingering for just a second before heading toward the door. 

He knows that at some point they’re going to need to talk about everything that has happened, but for now he’s content just having Dean on the same ethereal plain as him. 

Dean comes back a few minutes later with a plate and a paper cup. 

“PB&J and a glass of whole milk: the American standard,” Dean flips the tray up from the side of the bed and sets the food down. “Sorry, it’s probably crap, but it was the only thing in the cafeteria that didn’t smell like ass. When we get you back to my place I’ll cook up some burgers or pancakes or whatever you want.” 

“You mean, your home?” 

“Yeah. The doctors said you should be fine to check on outta here in a day or so, an’ I figured you’d, you know, stay with me, at least for a little while until you’re flyin’ again.” Dean smiles. 

“Dean I couldn’t impose…” 

“Dude, this isn’t up for debate, so just, shut up, okay? And eat your damn sandwich.” There’s no heat to Dean’s words, just relief as he leans back, exhausted, and slouches down into the chair. 

“Thank you Dean.” 

“Mmhmm, anytime.” 

Castiel takes a bite and decides that this is the best peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the history of the universe. 


	21. Come and Find Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I keep you in a flower vase  
> With your fatalism and your crooked face  
> With the daisies and the violet brocades  
> And I keep me in a vacant lot  
> In the ivy and forget-me-nots  
> Hoping you will come and untangle me one of these days  
> [-Come and Find Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aaILwr5cwY8)

**Chapter 21**

Dean is like a nesting mother bird while he gets Castiel settled. Castiel is amused watching Dean like this, and decides to stretch his legs as he follows Dean around the modest home, getting the full tour and being told over and over again to make himself comfortable. Dean insists that Castiel stays in the same room as him, telling him it is better in case he needs anything in the middle of the night. Castiel doesn't argue. Neither man makes any comment about the fact that there is only the one bed in the room. 

Castiel is constantly hungry, so the next thing Dean does is ask him what he wants to eat and then places a huge order for grocery delivery directly to the house. He also orders a pizza and breadsticks because Castiel is hungry _now_. By the time the groceries arrive they have finished the pizza and Castiel pulls a cardboard box containing a cherry pie out of one of the delivery bags. He digs in with a fork while Dean puts the groceries away. 

“Man, when was the last time you ate?” Dean asks, sliding two boxes of cereal into a cabinet. 

“Not since Seattle.” He shoves a painfully large bite into his mouth. 

“Are you serious?!” 

“Angels don’t eat in Heaven. We don’t need to. Food doesn’t taste the same. And there was no time.” He speaks around the pie he’s still chewing. When he swallows he continues, “We don’t eat, or sleep. It was just a lot of walking and running and hiding. Dean, can I ask… how long was I gone?” He shovels a few more bites into his mouth while looking up at Dean. 

“What? Really? You don’t know?” 

“To me,” he forces a swallow, “it feels different. I could have been gone for seven days or seven years. I’m not sure. You look a little different than when I left…” He pauses, looking closely at Dean who is still distracting himself with the groceries. Dean turns to face him. 

“Oh yeah? What about me is different?” he smirks. 

“Your hair is longer.” Castiel says without hesitation. “And you have more freckles now.” 

He takes another bite of pie before setting it down on the counter and wiping his mouth with a napkin. He stares at Dean until he’s done chewing and Dean starts to shift uncomfortably under his gaze. 

“That it?” 

“You’re a little thinner, and you have more lines around your eyes when you smile.” 

“Gee, thanks Cas.” 

“It’s not a bad thing. You’re still…” _Gorgeous_ he thinks. _Breathtaking. Perfect._

“Adorable?” Dean offers and pouts his lips. 

“Yes Dean, you’re still adorable.” Castiel says with a modest laugh. 

“Well people get older and things change. Ain’t no stopping that.” 

“Do I look different?” 

Dean looks at him closely, leaning in and resting his elbows on the counter. Cas starts to understand why Dean seems to fidget under such rapt attention. 

“Yes and no. You look the same, but… I don’t know. I guess you’re hotter than I remember s’all.” Dean smiles at him, genuinely smiles – all green eyes and laugh lines and freckles – and Castiel thinks that he would fight all of the angels in Heaven one hundred times over just for a glimpse of that smile. 

They look at each other for much longer than is appropriate. 

“Wow, Dean, you _are_ older. Look at all those wrinkles…” he teases and Dean lets out a hearty, full-body laugh. 

“Hey now! That’s not fair. You go away for three and a half years and what? You think that I was going to get younger? Can’t have a perfect ass and perky nipples forever you know. It’s a good thing I’m so charming.” He winks. 

But Castiel is distracted. 

“Three and a half years?” 

“What?” 

“I was gone for three and a half years?” 

Dean pauses before answering. 

“Uh, yeah, just about.” 

“Oh.” 

He isn’t sure what to make of that. When he left Earth he was expecting it to be much longer. He thought it would never end. Three and a half years wasn’t too bad. But, it was long enough, and he can tell it was too long for Dean. 

“But you’re back now,” Dean continues to put the groceries away, “and that’s pretty cool.” 

“Yeah.” He takes another bite of pie and that’s the last they speak of it for the night. 

Castiel has no clothes besides his bloodstained shirt and pants and the starchy cotton scrubs they gave him at the hospital, so he borrows a pair of green plaid boxers and Dean’s gray AC/DC t-shirt which is far too big for him but puts a huge smile on Dean’s face. 

They lie in bed together and browse the internet for clothes. Dean orders a few pairs of jeans and t-shirts next-day delivery for him, along with some and socks and a pair of boots. Castiel wants to tell Dean that he’d be happy just wearing his hand-me-downs, but Dean seems pleased at being able to provide so he doesn’t say anything. 

Although he does decide to see how long he can keep this AC/DC shirt because it’s the softest, most comfortable, most _Dean_ thing he can think of. 

When Dean turns out the light on the nightstand it’s only just past eight o’clock. Castiel is exhausted, but Dean seems wide awake. 

“It’s still light out Dean, you don’t need to lie here…” Castiel is on his stomach so as to keep the pressure off of his wings, which are still sore and healing. His head is turned towards Dean, who is lying on his side facing him. 

“Cas,” Dean’s eyes glow emerald in the evening light coming through the window, “I’m not good at this,” he motions at the space between them, and Castiel understands. “I’m not… I don’t really,” he huffs through his nose in frustration. “I can’t explain it, but just let me be here, okay? I just want to be right here.” 

Who was he to deny Dean anything he ever wanted? 

Castiel closes his eyes and tries to take it all in: the scent of Dean’s shampoo that lingers on the pillow; the sounds from a summer evening floating in through the open window; the comfort of lying next to the man who had prayed to him, keeping him alive with hope. 

“You prayed to me,” he whispers while he teeters on the verge of sleep, and so quietly that the sound of the crickets outside the open window almost drowned him out. “You prayed to me for three and a half years.” 

“Yeah.” Dean says in a hoarse whisper. “I did. Every day.” 

And with the unmistakable feeling of _home_ filling his entire being, Castiel falls asleep. 


	22. Change of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a dream last night  
> And when I opened my eyes  
> Your shoulder blade, your spine  
> Were shorelines in the moon light  
> New worlds for the weary  
> New lands for the living  
> I could make it if I tried  
> I closed my eyes I kept on swimming  
> [-Change of Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpf6XVOGQWc)

**Chapter 22**

Dean didn’t fall asleep, but he watched Cas sleep. 

Castiel. His angel. _His_ angel. 

The angel he met per chance at a show and fell for on the tour bus. 

The angel he was sure he'd never see again… 

Only he did see Cas again. It just took some time. 

Three and a half years - better than never, but too long anyway. He had come to terms with the fact that the most memorable, amazing creature he’d ever met was gone for good. 

Yes, he had prayed, but he never really _believed_. 

He didn’t believe to the point that he told Cas a lot of stuff that he probably wouldn’t have otherwise: confessions and admissions that he never would have told someone unless he had no intention of seeing them ever again. 

If Cas truly had heard all of Dean’s prayers, that would mean that he knows Dean better than anyone, despite having met him few enough times to count on one hand. He talked to Cas more than he talked to anyone. 

He had talked about his mother, or what he could remember about her at least. He asked questions like if Cas had ever seen her in Heaven, or if she would have wings now, too. Dean never thought he’d get an answer, and he wasn’t really sure he wanted to know anyway. He also knew that Cas was in the middle of fighting a war, and looking for Dean’s dead mother probably wasn’t a top priority. 

He asked stupid questions that he never would have asked to an angel’s face, like: 

_How do angels put on their shirts? Don’t their wings get in the way? Are there invisible cuts in the shirts or is it some kind of residual angel mojo that just sort of makes it happen?_

_How fast can angels fly? Baby can go about 97 mph before she starts to shake._

_Do angels age? When you come back will you still be all hot and I'll be all old?_

Once he got really drunk and told Cas about the time he tried on his ex-girlfriend’s pink lacy panties (and how much he liked it). 

He told Cas about how he cried more when he found out how drunk his father was when he crashed the Impala than he did when John actually died. 

He admitted that he dated Benny for a long time before Benny joined the band. 

Dean would also confess to Cas every time he had sex while Cas was in Heaven. Usually the admission came drunkenly afterwards, followed by an apology, then self-loathing that he tried to keep to himself, but if Cas still had his ears on he’d probably heard it, too. 

Dean had a few bad habits: one was drinking too much when he was pissed, and the other was the occasional one night stand with a fan, or a groupie, or someone he’d bump into at a grocery store or a bar or a bookstore or wherever was convenient. 

He’d fuck and leave. He never stayed the night. 

He didn’t want to be the one to wake up alone. He couldn’t do that again. 

And after every time, after every _fucking_ time, Dean would feel worse. Of course while it was happening, the sex would feel awesome and he’d think that maybe _this time_ he could move on. But it never happened, and he’d always wind up staring at the ceiling thinking _Cas, I did it again because I’m an asshole._

Castiel knew the worst of Dean. He knew everything. He knew all of the stupid things Dean had done, the bad decisions and the regrets and the things he probably should regret but doesn’t. 

And still – Cas came back. 

He crash landed back into Dean’s life despite it all. 

And now, here he is, sleeping within arm’s reach. 

So Dean reaches out and strokes his arm just because he can. 

Thinking about that night, years ago, when Cas was just a vision, a stand-out from the crowd, some dude with wings and electric blue eyes, Dean realizes how god damn lost he was the first time he laid eyes on him. He was _ruined._

And here he is, in Dean's bed - wounded but still the same. 

His hymns to Castiel had become part of his show. He had made it a routine to talk to Cas, because he _wanted_ to, he was _desperate_ to. 

Cas is still now, and his wings are still too but look like they’re ready to flee if the need arises. Dean figures this is something that Cas picked up in Heaven, during the fighting, for a quick escape or something. He fears that Cas might bolt in the night, so Dean lays there for hours, with his eyes fixed on his angel. 

But Cas doesn’t go anywhere. 

Even when Dean dozes off and wakes up to the midmorning sun shining through the windows, Cas is still there, still sound asleep. 

Dean doesn’t get out of bed. Even when his stomach grumbles for breakfast. Even when he has to pee. Even when his phone rings and rings and rings downstairs. It isn’t until Castiel stirs and yawns and groans that Dean finally sits up. 

“Cas?” he whispers. 

“Hmm?” A quiet hum into the pillow. 

“You want breakfast?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“’Kay. I’ll be downstairs. Shout if you need anything.” 

“Noooo...” Cas whines, reaching out and grabbing onto the arm of Dean’s shirt and balling it in his fist like a child. 

“I’ll just be downstairs,” Dean says, fighting the desire to stay in bed. He settles for a lingering kiss on Cas’ temple, breathing in the clean smell of shampoo. The warmth and comfort radiating from Cas makes his head spin. 

Castiel hums sweetly and loosens his grip on Dean’s sleeve. 

When he gets downstairs Dean pees and then checks his messages. One is from Bobby with a request to play a fundraiser for the Lawrence Homeless Shelter tomorrow night. The other message is from Sammy, the worrywart, just checking in. 

He decides to call Sammy back first. 

“Hey man, if you’re calling because you can’t find your Playstation its Jess’ fault. She smuggled it into her gigantic purse while we were cleaning. I had no idea…” 

“Uh huh, whatever, man. Hey, thanks for putting my living room back together.” 

“No problem. Hey, how’s Cas doing?” 

“He’s getting better. He’s tired all the time, and hungry. I watched him eat a whole pie last night.” 

“Whoa whoa whoa, hold the phone – you let him eat a _whole pie?_ Like, you didn’t have _any of the pie?”_

“Okay maybe I had a bite or two. Whatever. The dude’s hungry s’my point.” 

Sammy’s laugh barks through the phone and slaps a smile on Dean’s face. Sometimes he thinks Sammy knows him better than he knows himself. The only person who might know him better is Cas now, seeing how Dean verbally vomited all of his secrets on the guy. 

“I think once he catches up on basic human necessities like sleep and cheeseburgers he’ll be alright.” Dean bumps around the kitchen, pulling out a pan, plugging in the toaster and coffee pot, pressing the phone between his ear and his shoulder while cracking eggs. “His wings are fucked up though. I don’t know what to do about that. Gabriel said that his mojo won’t work on wings so he couldn’t do anything about it. Maybe they’ll heal on their own, I donno.” 

“If you want I can reach out to my buddy at Stanford, see if he’s got any ideas on how to help?” 

“Oh, wait. Are you talking about Professor McNaughtyDreams?” 

“Shut up dude that was one dream like, six years ago...” 

“What was his name again? Bazaar- _something_?” 

“Balthazar, asshat.” 

“Oh, that’s right! You were moaning ‘ _Oh Balthy! Oh Balthy!’_ all night!” 

“Shut your face Dean!” 

Dean laughs. It's impossibly cathartic. 

“Sorry man, I won’t bring it up again. But yeah. You could ask him, That'd be cool” 

“Jeeze, don’t strain yourself with gratitude. I’ll email him today and let you know.” 

“Thanks.” 

“How are you doing, though?” 

“Me? I’m good, Sammy. I’m really, really good.” 

“Really?” 

“He’s back.” Dean still can hardly believe it. Maybe he should go upstairs and check, just to make sure he is still there. “Cas is back. He’s fucking here. In my house.” 

“Dean, I know you’ve been in love with this guy since you met him, but what do you really know about him?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“What I mean is that you met him three years ago, had a one night stand, and you’ve been hung up on him ever since. I just want to make sure you think this through, vet him out a little. You know, make sure he really is a _good guy_. Maybe get to know him a little bit before you marry him or something, I don’t know.” 

“You’ll have to meet him, Sammy. Once you meet him you’ll see. He’s different. He’s special.” 

“Okay Deanna.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I just want you to be careful Dean. I don’t want you getting hurt if he runs off again.” 

“He didn’t _run off_ – he was drafted. There’s a difference.” 

“I know. Still,” Dean can practically see Sammy’s _concerned furrowed brow_ from across town. He should patent that thing for disapproving mothers all over the country. 

“I’ll be careful. I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.” 

Breakfast was starting to come together, and Dean and Sam chatted and teased each other while Dean fought against bacon grease splatters and cut up some fruit. He decided that he liked having a fully stocked kitchen. Maybe between tours he’ll keep some more food in the house, make himself and Cas some nice meals. 

When breakfast was complete Dean got off the phone and carried a tray upstairs – plates spilling over with food, glasses of orange juice and cups of coffee, sugar and a small cup of cream, two napkins and two forks. He takes the stairs slowly and manages only to slosh a little orange juice over the rim of one of the glasses. 

Cas is asleep again. His left wing has relaxed and hangs over the side of the bed and onto the floor. Dean sets the tray on top of the trunk at the foot of the bed and sits on the floor next to the wing. He decides to take a chance and reaches out, gently stroking the silky feathers. 

The feathers are just as soft as he remembers, so soft that he almost can’t feel them at all. He cards his fingers through them, not how he had before – filled with passion and lust and that weird wing kink he never realized he had – but with tenderness. _I can fix you_ he thinks at the wings, _don’t worry_. He pets the wing softly, stopping every few inches to move a displaced feather so it’s facing the right direction. One feather falls out in his hand without much more than a touch, and Dean places it on the nightstand. 

As he works his way around the wing within his reach, it moves towards him with a small rolling motion, resting over his legs, giving him better access. He smiles wide, figuring that this gesture is Cas giving him permission – or Cas’ wings giving him permission, anyway – so he continues working his way toward the tips of the long flight feathers. Only a few feathers fall out, and they’re all smaller, downy ones that float in the air before Dean catches them. 

He adds them to the pile on the nightstand. 


	23. Man Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one put me in this hell  
> I lit a fire underneath myself  
> Now I'm blazing the same old trail back to you again  
> A man burning at both ends  
> [-Man Burning](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-Dmq53fvxc)

**Chapter 23**

Castiel is roused from his sleep by the unceasing waves of comfort and pleasure that swell up his wings from the delicate way Dean touches them. He doesn’t move, and he doesn’t want Dean to stop, although he should really say _something_ to let Dean know he is awake. 

Dean must not realize that he’s grooming his wings. He must just think that he’s petting them. But Castiel can feel him shifting feathers back into place, inadvertently tugging out the ones that are no longer necessary, straightening and brushing and _he is grooming my wings_. 

He shivers and shifts the wing closer to Dean. 

Castiel lies very still, pretending to be asleep. Occasionally he hears Dean mutter _c’mere you_ or _gotcha_ and Castiel has to hold back a snicker every time. 

He’s been back on Earth for less than a week and already he’s more at ease than he ever was before. The violent images of the war are momentarily pushed aside like a distant, unpleasant memory. He’s sure they will surface and that soon he’ll need to acknowledge the chaos that’s been left inside his mind. For now, however, he forces every unpleasant thought out of his head. Dean’s attention feels so good that he can hardly think straight. 

Eventually the smell of bacon becomes too much for Castiel to fight anymore. His stomach growls loudly and he lets out a frustrated moan. 

“’Mornin’ sunshine.” Dean says, getting up off his butt and away from the wing in one quick movement, like he’s trying to deny he was ever there. Castiel feels the loss immediately, but he sits up and is rewarded with a warm cup of coffee pressed into his hands. “Everything has cooled off, so if you want me to reheat anything-“ 

“That won’t be necessary Dean. Thank you for all this, I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.” 

“Nah, I was up talking to Sammy anyway. I was planning on just making toast and eggs, the rest kind of happened by accident.” 

Dean puts the drinks on nightstand, sets the tray in the middle of the large bed and sits down at the foot of the bed facing him so they can each reach the food. Castiel makes gratuitously inappropriate sounds with almost every bite. 

“ _Mmmph_. Thish ish sho good.” Castiel slurs out around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Dean just looks at him and smirks into his cup of coffee. 

“How’d you sleep? You feeling better?” 

Castiel swallows. “I slept very well. Dreamless and uninterrupted. Your bed is incredibly comfortable. I don’t understand how you could ever sleep in hotel beds.” 

“Yeah, I know, but I enjoy being on the road. I'd never come back to Lawrence if it weren’t for this bed.” 

They eat and talk about little things as neither of them seem to be able to bring up anything more substantial than small talk. They avoid any discussion involving time frames or Heaven or what either of them has been up to for the past few years or what they are supposed to do next. 

Then the neat stack of feathers on the nightstand catches Cas’ eye. 

“Oh, uh,” Dean notices him glancing over. “Those fell out.” Dean looks at the strip of bacon between his fingers like it’s done him wrong. 

“Just wait until I start to molt.” He says casually, taking a bite of toast. 

“Wait, what? Molt?” 

“This is good jam. What is it, apricot?” 

“Dude,” Dean tosses his napkin at him. “Like, molt like a bird?” 

“I’m an angel, you ass. Not a bird.” 

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes. 

Castiel falls even deeper in love so hard he nearly chokes on his toast. 

He has always felt different: too angelic to be human, too human to be a soldier in Heaven’s war... Castiel’s never felt that sense of _belonging_. But sitting here in Dean’s bed wearing Dean’s t-shirt, eating a meal that Dean made, and laughing at mock annoyance on Dean's face under his fluffy bedhead-hair, it becomes painfully obvious that this is where he belongs. Right here. With Dean. 

“Okay, fine.” Dean continues, oblivious to Castiel’s recent epiphany. “Molt. What’s that mean exactly?” 

Castiel pulls himself together enough to respond. “I’ll lose my feathers. Grow some new ones. It’s pretty standard.” 

“Standard like a bird…” Dean mumbles and finally bites into that piece of bacon. 

“Fine, like a bird, then.” 

“Will it hurt?” 

“Not particularly. It’ll be itchy. And I won’t be able to fly, but I can’t fly now anyway so it won’t be much different.” 

“Do you think it will help your wings heal?” 

The innocence with which Dean asks the question is ridiculous. It makes Castiel’s wings flutter. 

“It would if I still had my grace.” 

“Gabriel says you still have some left in there. That was the only reason he could fix your body.” 

“Maybe it will, then. We’ll see.” 

They finish breakfast with casual conversation and then Dean decides to take a shower. Castiel considers getting in with him, but the shower is too small for the two men and his wings to fit comfortably, so he decides to go back to sleep instead. 

The clothes they ordered are delivered by two o’clock and Castiel is reluctant to change out of Dean’s worn-in t-shirt, but the way Dean looks at him when he walks out in the jeans and a white t-shirt makes it worth it. 

Castiel tries to ignore how Dean looks at him with that agonizing desire in his eyes. He knows that the relationship they had before he was sent to Heaven was mostly a physical one, and, while he truly is enjoying how their relationship is maturing into something much more profound, Castiel can’t help but think about how it felt when Dean was on top of him years ago...


	24. You Don't Make It Easy Babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here I am standing at your window again  
> Waiting for you to say "go away" or "come in"  
> I'm your locked door's worst knocker  
> I'm your curtain's best friend  
> I'm trying hard to love you — you don't make it easy, babe  
> [-You Don't Make It Easy Babe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AGgq8AXAltE)

**Chapter 24**

Yeah, like Dean doesn’t notice the way Cas keeps staring at him. The dude isn’t exactly subtle. 

They’ve been doing this slow dance around each other for over a week now, moving closer and closer every day with light brushes of hands that could be accidental, or waking up pressed against each other. They were both waiting for the other to make some kind of clear, assuring gesture that it was okay to kick things up a notch. 

They had both been hurt, but Dean decided immediately that since Cas was the one who was really hurt, the one suffering from actual physical pain and wasn’t just being a little bitch with abandonment issues, he would be the one to give the all-clear. 

Dean can be patient. He has _some_ self-control, right? 

But sometimes when Dean is cooking or writing or, hell, even brushing his teeth, he’ll catch Cas looking at him with wide, lust-blown eyes that are so desperate, so stunning and full of want, and it takes him more effort than he thought possible to not stop whatever menial task he’s doing and jump on the guy. 

Once, while he was on the phone with Bobby trying to plan the next tour schedule, Cas walked by – literally, just walked through the hallway, passing the open door of Dean’s music room – wearing jeans slung low on his hips and no shirt with his giant wings dragging behind him. He had just gotten out of the shower and his hair was wet and sticking up in all directions. It was a split-second vision, like a ghost, but all that skin and sharp angles and feathers… it was enough to distract Dean completely. Then about ten seconds later he caught a whiff of Cas’ clean scent and it nearly knocked him on his ass. 

He hung up on Bobby and was barely able to get the door closed before whipping his dick out and jacking off into a Kleenex. 

Dean is trying so hard not to push because Cas is still healing. His body and wings are still broken. And they haven’t even begun to touch the mess that could be inside his head. Do angels suffer from PTSD? Does Cas have a trigger that could set him off? Like if a car backfires outside will he hide under the kitchen table or have a full-on psychotic breakdown? 

Cas seems fine. He sleeps through the night and laughs at Dean’s stupid jokes and doesn’t seem bothered by much. But, still… 

No, he’s not going to do anything until he knows Cas is ready, so Dean settles for fucking his own soapy fist in the shower every morning until then. 

His mantra becomes _Cas isn’t ready, don’t be a dick about it. Cas isn’t ready, don’t be a dick about it._

Tonight is Tuesday so they’ve declared it Taco Night, and while ground beef is sizzling in a frying pan, Dean slices olives and sings his mantra to himself to the tune of Black Dog. 

Then Cas walks out into the kitchen looking flustered, his cheeks pink and his eyes red like he’s been rubbing at them too hard. 

“Everything alright?” Dean asks, glancing over at the angel. 

Castiel just grumbles something incoherent and palms at his own groin. 

“Oh.” _Cas isn’t ready, don’t be a dick about it._ “Gotcha.” _Cas isn’t ready. Keep cutting olives. Don’t be a dick._

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Castiel looks positively scared and frustrated. “I can’t seem to… I mean, I tried, but it won’t…” Cas lets out a stymied groan. 

_Cas isn’t ready._

“What do you need, Cas?” 

It wasn’t the neon sign that he wanted, but it was a nudge, just a _nudge_ , a light knock on the door, if you will. And Dean watched the shift in Cas’ expression as he proceeded to kick that fucking door down. 

“You. Dean, I need you.” 

_Cas is ready. It’s fucking go time._

Dean has one final moment of self-control and he uses it to turn off the stove. 

They move toward each other silently, easily, the space between them shrinking until there is nothing. Cas tilts his head up just slightly to meet Dean’s lips and that was it. 

Sparks ignite, ascend, and fall around them. The ground quakes and threatens to split open and swallow them whole. The wind blows and thunder crashes and every car alarm within a two mile radius goes off. 

Or, maybe that’s just all in Dean’s head at the first taste of Castiel after so long. 

But then fingers tangle in hair and teeth clash and bite and nothing is delicate because too many things are screaming _Now! Now! Now!_ Cas is grabbing fists full of Dean’s shirt, pulling him closer, like he’s trying to climb inside of Dean and take him over, trying to possess him completely, and Dean is inclined to let him. 

Dean quickly finds himself pushed against the counter until there is nowhere to go but toward Cas. 

“Dean,” Cas whines into his mouth, giving Dean the break he needs to kiss down his jaw and the corded muscles in his neck. He doesn’t even stop to breathe, because why would he need to breathe when he can feel the blood surging under Cas’ pulse point. He sucks hard at it until, _“Dean…”_

It’s a plea this time, and it takes every bit of self-control for Dean to pull away from his angel just enough to respond with, “I know. Come on,” before he takes Cas by the wrist and leads him out of the kitchen and up the stairs to their bedroom. 

Their silence reminds Dean of the beach. 

Why he’s thinking about this right now, at this moment, is beyond him… 

But there was a time during their last tour when the band was in Charleston, South Carolina and Dean had a few minutes to himself. He walked from the hotel to the beach and sat in the sand, away from his band mates and away from the crowds and fans and public, and just sat there watching the waves beat against the shore over and over. He found comfort in their regularity, but then for a few moments there would be complete and total silence along the entire stretch of beach when the waves would align and all be washing back out to the ocean at once. 

It was strange, hearing nothing but quiet at the beach. It was a silence he took notice of because there was something profound in it. But in the time it took Dean to take a deep breath, there were waves crashing and thrashing and breaking once again. 

Walking to the bedroom with Castiel at his side was like those few moments of silence. Dean held his breath as they crossed the threshold, the sound of nothingness screaming in his ears, but then he is the shore and Cas is a wave and the crash is deafening. 


	25. Song for the Fireflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With intermittent rain and shine  
> the sky re-started six or seven times  
> It's blue because it sees  
> All our infidelities  
> We both know that it's been so long  
> I'm not sure what to say so I hope  
> Fireflies remember to do exactly what it was they used to  
> [-Song for the Fireflies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9xW17npwses)

**Chapter 25**

They stumble to the bed, kissing, grabbing, shoving. Cas pulls his shirt off with zero resistance before tossing it across the room and immediately going for Dean’s fly. 

“Button fly?” Cas says, disapprovingly while struggling and then finally tugging the fabric at the right angle causing the four buttons to come undone all at once. “You’re not allowed to wear these pants again.” He pushes them down and Dean steps out of them, laughing when Cas actually kicks them out the door. Before Dean can even coordinate himself, Cas is undressing himself in a whirlwind of cotton and denim flying every direction. 

“Dude, take a breath.” Dean says, trying to find some part of Cas to hold onto, some part of him that isn’t going at warp speed. 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“You heard me,” Cas growls as he kisses all along Dean’s neck, groping at the bulge under his boxers before effectively tearing them off, scratching down the muscles of Dean’s stomach - a constant blur. 

“Well what if I want you to take a second…to – hey, look at me. Cas?” 

“Dean,” Cas grudgingly stops and finally looks up at Dean. His pupils are blown wide and there’s a fire in his blue eyes so hot that Dean’s shocked that they’re even still blue at all. “It’s been so long.” 

“Since we…?” 

Castiel rests his forehead against Dean’s chest. “Not just that.” 

“Cas, tell me what’s going on.” Dean glides his hands up and down Cas’ arms and presses a kiss into his hair. He can feel Cas trembling and thinks that he pushed too hard. It’s happening too fast. _Cas wasn't ready. Don't be a dick about it._

“I haven’t ejaculated in over three years.” 

_Whoa._ That is _not_ what Dean was expecting, and his surprise is the only thing that allows him to gloss over the fact that Castiel just said the word _ejaculated_ while they’re both standing there naked. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Unfortunately and painfully, yes.” Castiel looks up at Dean with a despondent look. “There wasn’t much of a need in Heaven since all of my human needs were muted. But I’d hear you, Dean. And I wanted you so badly even though being in Heaven never allowed me to _feel_ like I wanted you.” 

“Hold up, what do you mean you’d hear me? Like, you’d hear me when I’d pray to you, and that’s it, right? Tell me that’s all you heard.” There’s a quiet panic in his voice and Dean can feel the heat of shame rising up when Cas doesn’t respond right away. “ _Oh god…_ ” 

“I’d hear you, um, in the _throes of passion_.” Cas interrupts Dean’s self-loathing. 

“Fuck, Cas, I’m so…” he looks away. What is he supposed to say? That he’s sorry? That he’s embarrassed? That he’s stupid and worthless and that he’d understand if Cas wanted to walk out on him then? Dean thinks he might be dying, but Cas seems unmoved. “So,” he swallows, trying to compose himself, “You mean, you’d actually hear _it_ happening or, uh…” 

“Yes, Dean, I’d hear it. You’re a very vocal lover, and even if you weren’t necessarily speaking aloud you were thinking very loudly at me.” 

Dean is so preoccupied with being humiliated and ashamed that he doesn’t notice that Castiel pulls him closer, holds him tighter, and slowly begins moving against him. It isn’t until Cas starts kissing and sucking at Dean’s neck that Dean realizes what is happening. He wants to grovel, to beg at Castiel’s feet for absolution, but Cas speaks first, explaining in the brief moments while his lips aren’t attached to Dean’s skin. 

“You make such lovely noises when you come, Dean.” Again, it isn’t exactly what Dean was expecting to hear, but it’s what Cas says nonetheless. “I could listen to you for hours. You try so hard to stay quiet; it’s unbelievable when you finally lose yourself in it.” 

Cas pulls back and looks at Dean, who must look as confused as he feels because Cas lets out an abrupt, breathy laugh. 

“But, what about…” Dean begins, only to be cut off by Cas reading his mind. He was so lucky to have met someone who seems to have no problem figuring out the difficult things Dean wants to say without him actually needing to say them. 

“What about the fact that you slept with thirteen people while I was away?” 

“Oh, Jesus, you _counted_?” 

He hates himself for this. He hates himself for how impulsive he is. He hates himself for being unworthy, for sleeping around while Cas was off fighting in a war. He’s like a sleazy Army wife who people watch self-destruct after making one too many bad decisions and then they say things like _she only got what she deserved._

“Of course I counted. I wasn’t upset if that’s what you’re thinking. I was more relieved that there was someone here to give you the pleasure and comfort you needed at the time.” 

Dean really can’t believe what Cas is saying. This isn’t real. There is no way that someone like this exists, and if he does, there is no fucking way that Dean deserves him. 

“It’s alright, Dean.” Cas touches his cheek softly and brushes his thumb over his lips. “Don’t look so nervous.” 

“Cas I’m not that kind of person, you know? I’m… I can be faithful. I wouldn’t… I’d never…” 

“I know,” Cas shuts him up by placing his hand over his mouth. “And that’s one reason why I left you without saying goodbye. I know what I would have been tempted to ask of you, and I know what kind of man you are. I didn’t want you to make a promise to me that would pain you to keep until you’d eventually have to break it.” 

He releases the pressure of his hand and instead supplies Dean with light touches over his lips and cheeks, down the bridge of his nose, behind his ears and into his hair – soft caresses that soothe Dean’s worry as much as the words he speaks. 

“I didn’t bring this up to make you feel guilty. I only mentioned this because I’ve wanted to be with you again since the second I walked away, and since I’ve returned I feel everything so much _more_ – fatigue, hunger, pain, arousal,” he flicks his eyes down to his erection, and while Dean’s has flagged somewhat from regret and shame, his is still fully at attention, ruddy and shining with a clear drop of precome glistening at the tip. The sight of it making everything else seem completely ridiculous because _why are they having this conversation when there is an incredibly delicious cock right in front of him?_

Cas cups Dean’s cheeks in his hands and forces him to look up. “Please don’t be ashamed about anything you did while I wasn’t here.” 

How is Cas even able to think straight and form complete sentences with that rock solid dick about to go off between them? _Angels and humans really are different_ , Dean supposes. 

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he wants to believe everything that Cas is saying, but he knows that if the roles were reversed… if he were to find out that _Cas_ had been with anyone else… 

“ _Shut up Dean_ ,” Cas huffs and kisses Dean, hard. “And stop thinking so much.” 

“Shit, can you still hear me?” 

“No, I’m human, but that doesn’t mean I can’t _see_ that you’re thinking too much. Would it make you feel better if I told you that if you ever do it again I’ll kill you?” 

“Yes, actually.” Dean nuzzles his nose against Cas’. 

“Okay fine. Dean Winchester, if you ever, _ever,_ stick that dick in someone else I will cut it clean off with my angel blade and throw it into a vat of burning holy oil.” 

“Dude, there’s a ton of middle ground between that and what you were just saying…” he cups his own cock and balls, playfully protective, and it’s so childish that the tension and intensity sort of melt away. 

They sink into each other, all soft kisses and fingertips, but the urgency is reignited when Dean feels his own dick brush against Cas’ hypersensitive one and Cas actually yelps into his mouth. 

“Sorry,” Cas mutters and tries to continue kissing, but Dean holds him off. 

“Oh, Cas, fuck, don’t be sorry.” He grabs Cas’ hips and drags him around pushing him gently onto the bed and then dropping to his knees between Cas’ legs, wrapping his fingers around the heat of Cas and the whine it elicits makes Dean’s own twitch with need. They’re done talking for now, and Dean doesn’t hesitate to swallow Cas down to the root. 

He doesn’t start slow and build because what Cas needs is enough heat and friction to get off _now_ so Dean pumps his fist, swallows as deep as he can, moaning as he revels in the pure taste of his angel. He sucks so hard his cheeks go hollow and Cas falls backwards with a long desperate cry and spills in Dean’s mouth without warning. 

Dean’s been with a few guys since Cas, and those times were never like this. It was always bitter, he always choked and was reluctant to swallow. He didn’t like how they held his head still or shoved down his throat to make him gag or when they pulled his hair. He didn’t like how they swore at him as they came. 

With Castiel it’s different. He swirls his tongue around Cas as he swirls the come around in his mouth before swallowing. He enjoys it:  the warm, sweet, pure taste, the soft little coos escaping Cas’ mouth, the way his leg and stomach muscles jump as Dean sucks hard a few more times to pull out whatever flavor might be left. 

Cas’ legs are shaking and Dean kisses along his thighs and rubs them with his palms in an attempt to soothe and relax. It’s a lost cause, so instead he hikes Cas strong legs over his shoulders, calves draping down his back as he continues to suckle. He licks at the crease where thigh and pelvis connect. He sucks a ball into his mouth, then the other, then both at the same time, flicking at the skin between them with his tongue. 

Dean works gently and diligently, still wanting to lick and taste and tease as he waits for the erection to soften and go down. 

And while Cas’ breathing has evened out slightly, he’s still hard. 

_Angels are amazing creatures_ Dean thinks, and he ups his game. 

He licks the impossibly hot skin between his testicles and his hole, and then he hoists Cas up a little more, spreads his cheeks, and licks around his rim, occasionally dipping his tongue inside, twisting and sucking and pulling sounds from Cas that range from delighted velociraptor to wolf-in-heat. Each one makes Dean swell a little more with desire and pride, for making his angel fall apart with his mouth alone. 

He lets Cas’ legs down gently and reaches over to the nightstand for the lube he keeps in the drawer. 

“Cas, you there? Cas to Earth? Earth to Cas?” 

A squeaky _hmmmpf_ is the only reply. 

“C’mon babe,” Dean says, nipping at Cas’ thigh. “We’re just getting started.” 


	26. The Remnant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I'll know you by the shift of the wind in the cobwebs  
> The sawdust swirls in the fins of the bullheads  
> The craters that you made when you lay down dreaming  
> Strange constellations that you gave new meaning  
> By the teeth marks you made on bones from the ice age  
> Then smell of the cinder burning slow in your rib cage  
> Listen in the distance and you'll hear my shadow  
> Footsteps soft as the tread of an echo  
> And up through the blue I knew the stars were tumbling  
> [-The Remnant](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6U8XRn5v41I)

**Chapter 26**

“C’mon babe,” Dean says, nipping at Cas’ thigh. “We’re just getting started.” 

“B-but y-ou…?” Cas feebly reaches out for Dean, but Dean backs away. 

“Oh don’t you worry about me, Cas. I’ll get mine, trust me.” He chuckles at how Cas sighs and instantly relaxes, like he thought Dean wasn’t going to get off during this. He about shot his load as he sucked Cas off. Yeah, he was going to be fine. 

Besides, he was the jackass who had been fucking random fans and having one night stands and jerking off every day. But poor Cas… was masturbating not allowed in Heaven? _Fuck that_ Dean thinks before he’s pulled back to the moment by a swift kick to his thigh. 

“Stop thinking about it.” Cas looks as though he’s just barely holding it together. He smirks, just barely. “You gonna take care of this or what?” he points at his dick and does his best Dean impression. 

“Jeeze, sassy Cas. Scoot up and roll onto your stomach.” Dean watches Cas flip over and lazily crawl up to the center of the bed. His wings are pulled close to his body and the feathers high on the arches are all fluffed up. 

Dean wishes he could bury himself in the soft feathers. He wishes he could ask Cas to wrap him in those beautiful wings like he did before. He wishes he could take a strong hold of each wing as he fucks Cas from behind until shooting his load into that impossibly tight ass. 

_Not yet_ he wills himself. Once Cas is healed, once he has Cas’ permission to fucking _own_ those wings... right now he needs to take care of Cas but _fuck_ just thinking about all the things he could do to those wings is not helping his stamina. Dean thinks briefly about the usefulness of a cock ring in this situation but then reminds himself he doesn’t have one because those things have always scared the shit out of him. 

He crawls up behind Cas and pulls his hips up. Cas gets the hint and props himself up on his knees giving Dean marvelous access to his ass. 

Castiel’s ass is _glorious_ :pale and smooth and totally slappable. Dean spanks him a few times lightly on each cheek just to see what happens, and he smiles at the surprised little moans created each time his hand connects with the soft skin. 

Dean runs his hand down Cas’ spine between the strong wing joints to his shoulder blades, pressing him harder into the mattress, and then scratches his calloused fingers back up towards that perfect swell of an ass. Cas cants his hips up at Dean like a cat, whining Dean’s name when Dean runs his finger down his crack and over his hole. The wings flutter and Dean feels the current of air they create against his skin. 

He opens the lube and slicks up his fingers. He slides one in slowly, and before it’s even all the way in Cas is panting into the blankets and asking for more. 

“Maybe if you ask nicely.” Dean chides. 

“Dean _fuck_ please just oh _god dammit… Jesus. Fuck!”_

“That’s a lot of blaspheming, Cas.” 

It’s fun making Cas fall apart like this. The angel that was so eloquent just minutes ago can hardly construct a single coherent sentence after only one finger. 

“B-but _unnnhh_ I said p-please, Dean, _pleeease_!” 

“Yes, you did. That’s true.” 

He continues to work the single digit around for at least a whole minute before Cas really begins to beg. 

“Please Dean,” he continues to whine, “I’ll do anything, _please_ , just…” 

“Anything, huh? S’that right? I’ll keep that in mind.” Dean says, sliding in a second finger. Cas sighs in relief and fucks himself back onto the fingers. Dean lets Cas move against him, grabbing his own cock at the base to relieve some of the pressure. He could get off right now, just watching this, his fingers scissoring in and out while Cas grinds against his knuckles. Dean begins to stroke himself slowly as he twists his two fingers around and crooks them down, searching for that spot where when he hits it _just right_ he knows he can make Cas shout. 

“ _Nnngh… Dean_ … _oh!”_ Dean does it again and again, slowly massaging, pressing, dragging his fingertips over Cas’ prostate. He’s moaning and panting, his wings twitching and legs spreading farther apart, knees sliding against the comforter, spreading for Dean. 

It’s so hot that Dean has to take his hand off himself or he would be finished. 

“Fuck, Cas, you’re so good.” He praises, rubbing at Cas’ legs and ass with his free hand. “Are you gonna come for me just like this?” 

There’s a whine and a _yes yes fuck yessss De-ee-ean._ Dean keeps up the slow, methodical pace until Cas cries loudly into the blankets, clutching at them like he’s holding on for his life, and he comes untouched. Dean watches in wonder as come spills from Cas once again in slow, sustained bursts, pulsing in time with Dean’s fingers pressing inside of him. 

Cas slides onto his stomach and lays there, panting. Dean kisses up his back, licking at the joint where his wings meet his back. He’s careful not to put pressure on the wings when he leans in to bite the knob at the top of Cas’ spine. Cas hums pleasantly, sated, sweaty, and panting, but when Dean growls “we’re not finished yet,” he actually fucking whimpers. 

Dean is harder than he’s ever been. The condom rolls on easily and the slick wet sounds of the lube as he spreads it over himself gets Castiel’s attention. 

“Sit up, angel.” Dean tries to make it sound demanding, but it comes out as an endearment. _Angel. My angel. Mine._

Cas uses his wings to help flip himself back over, facing Dean. 

His cheeks are red and his lip is swollen from biting. He is fucking beautiful. Dean takes his hand and helps pull him up. Dean lies back, resting his head on the pillows. He doesn’t need to prompt Cas, or tell him what he wants or gesture in any way. Cas climbs onto Dean on his own accord, straddles him, and slowly lowers himself, legs shaking as the tight heat slowly envelopes Dean’s erection. 

Dean grips onto Castiel’s thighs to ground himself, to stop himself from thrusting up into that perfectly snug hole. He focuses on Cas’ face: how his eyes are squinting with their laser-focus on Dean, mouth gaping slightly and getting wider as he opens himself up for Dean. Cas grips onto the headboard, leaning over Dean, his wings encompassing them. 

When Cas seats himself completely, Dean knows that nothing could ever feel as perfect as this. They are two pieces from completely different puzzles that, for some reason, fit together beautifully. Nothing about this could ever be wrong, or strange, or anything but absolutely fucking perfect. 

“Cas,” Dean didn’t mean for his voice to come out all breathy and weak, but it does, and Cas responds with a sound just as pathetic. “I-I, _fuck Cas…_ ” 

All intelligible thoughts and whatever Dean was about to say is lost, replaced by a few more sharp curses as Cas pulls almost completely off and slams himself back down again hard enough for his ass to make a wicked sounding _slap_ against Dean’s thighs. 

“ _Uuungh,_ fuck _yes_ Cas just like that.” 

Cas does it, again and again, each time punching out a curse or praise from Dean. He tries so hard to keep his eyes open, to focus on the way the muscles in those lean arms flex each time Cas pulls himself up, how his eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth drops open as he fucks himself onto Dean. 

Dean starts to meet his thrusts with a force that wrenches a cry from Cas’ beautiful mouth. Dean feels like a madman when he smiles at watching Cas completely lose it, using his wings and arms to force himself down harder as Dean pushes up into him. Dean digs his heels into the bed for leverage and wraps his arms around Cas to pull him down impossibly harder, faster, closer. They’re both slick with sweat and it drips off of Cas as he shakes and shouts above Dean. 

“ _Yes! Uhhhnnn yes… Dean… ah!”_

“That’s it Cas, _fuck yeah_. You’re doing so good baby, so good, _so nnnghhh!”_ Cas slams down and grinds himself into Dean’s pelvis in little circles, changing the stimulation enough to push Dean over the precipice of a pretty fantastic orgasm. He closes his eyes and rides out the feeling, coming with a few obscene grunts before Cas starts riding him hard again. Dean reaches out and strokes Cas, who groans desperately, leaning back onto his wings and fucking himself a few more times before Dean feels the smooth, hot come in his hand and landing on his chest. Together they work Cas through his climax, each emission from his body causing him to tighten around Dean, milking him until every drop is spent and they’re both breathless and soaked in sweat and come. 

The angel collapses on top of Dean, burying himself in Dean’s neck, catching his breath. 

Dean doesn’t realize he’s still slowly, so slowly, pumping himself into Cas, his arms still wrapped tightly around his angels waist to keep him in place, until he hears Cas whisper even more blasphemies. It doesn’t seem like enough to really do anything except feel that comfortable, tight friction and motion, but then he hears Cas breathe a pitiful little _ahhh_ , into his ear, and Cas’ cock jerks in his fist as one more long, slow surge of come leaks out onto Dean’s stomach. 

He pulls out and Cas relaxes and sinks into him, the weight of his angel and those wings on top of him, surrounding him. Neither man moves. They’re content just lying together trying to remember how to breathe. 

“Cas,” Dean whispers, unsure of what he should say next, but knowing that he must say something because _wow_. 

“Thank you, Dean.” He hears, grumbled into his ear, muffled by the pillow and how close Cas’ lips are to him. There’s warm breath against his neck and then lazy, sloppy kisses up his jaw and cheek and up to his lips. “Thank you.” 


	27. Me and Jiggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later on,  
> Sitting on the roof talking  
> Like the night could last all night  
> Like we are all half crazy  
> And all at least half alright  
> [-Me and Jiggs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iT6O4wQQrF0)

**Chapter 27**

Castiel is a mess: sticky with drying sweat and come and lube, so he’s grateful when Dean helps him get to the bathroom as his legs are still wobbly. The shower is too small for them to fit in together, thanks again to Castiel’s wings, but Dean stands outside the tub with the curtain open to help Castiel clean himself off and make sure he doesn’t fall over. 

Dean takes his time scrubbing all of Castiel’s nooks and crannies and rinsing him thoroughly. He pulls him from the shower and dries him off with four big fluffy towels: one for his body, one for his hair, and one for each wing. 

“You are the most patient man alive,” Castiel says as Dean gently dries off his right wing, being extra careful even though they are nearly healed. 

“That’s definitely not true.” Dean argues, focusing on a little patch of covert feathers that are askew toward the wrist of the right wing. Castiel smiles as he watches Dean move them all into place and then wipe over them with the towel once more. The reverence with which Dean touches his wings causes a tremor to run through them. 

“Damn, sorry,” Dean backs off the wing, thinking that what he just did must have agitated it somehow. 

“Don’t be. That was a good one.” 

“Was it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, then,” Dean starts like he’s going to say something sarcastic, crack a dirty joke or something, but instead he just grins and keeps toweling at the feathers until almost all the water droplets that had collected on them are wiped away. Castiel then fluffs them up and shakes them out, flicking off whatever water remains. 

“What?” Castiel asks as Dean laughs. He adds the fourth and final towel to the heap of wet towels on the floor. 

“Nothing, except that you just reminded me of a bird again.” He chuckles even as Castiel frowns. He’s an angel, and that’s a very _very_ different species, and his consternation must show because Dean quickly grabs him by the chin and kisses him again. 

“Oh come on now Cas. However you just heard that isn’t how I meant it. Stop over-thinking things.” 

“But Dean I’m an…” 

“I know I know,” Dean rolls his eyes. “You’re an angel. I’m an ass. I get it.” 

Castiel huffs out a laugh with Dean’s clearly inflated exasperation, and Dean smiles too. 

“I know you’re an angel. You’re _my_ angel, and I love you, but you just puffed up like a parakeet and it was adorable.” Dean says this as he’s turning the water back on to get into the shower himself. 

The words are said so confidently and swiftly that Castiel thinks maybe he didn’t just hear Dean Winchester say he loves him for the first time. _You’re my angel, and I love you._

Dean kisses Castiel again and steps into the shower. 

“Go get dressed. I’ll finish dinner when I get out. 

_You’re my angel, and I love you._

Castiel feels like he’s just learned something new and vital, but this really isn’t new information. Since he’s been back he has _felt_ that Dean loves him, just by the way he cares for him, treats him, looks at him. Hearing the words out loud shouldn’t feel like such a revelation. 

But it does. 

Castiel grins like an idiot as he gets dressed. Instead of putting on his own shirt, he rummages through Dean’s top drawer that he’s cleared out for what Dean has termed ‘Cas Things’ and finds the AC/DC tee to pair with his jeans. 

Sated, clean, and apparently loved, Castiel decides that he is now also hungry and heads back down the stairs to the kitchen to see what he can help with before Dean gets done with his shower. 

Then the doorbell rings, startling him. There is a very tall man with long hair peaking in through a window. The shower is still running upstairs, so Castiel walks to the door and opens it. 

The man before him is larger than life with his shoulders and his hair and a big white smile and dimples. 

“You must be Cas!” he says, shifting the six pack of beer to his left hand so he can reach out and shake Castiel’s hand with his right. “I’m Sam.” 

“Oh!” Dean’s brother, Sammy. Dean’s _little_ brother? “Hi, yes, of course. Hello. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Yeah, man, it’s nice to meet you too finally. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Castiel is sure that is true, and again it’s something that shouldn’t come as a surprise. 

“Dean’s in the shower. Do you want to come in?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

Sam walks in and seems as comfortable in this place as Dean does. He tosses his keys on the small table by the door and walks to the kitchen, putting the beer in the fridge, but not before pulling two out of the pack. He opens a drawer, pulls out a bottle opener, flicks the tops off the bottles, tosses the caps expertly into the trash, and puts the bottle opener away. 

Castiel didn’t even know which drawer the bottle opener was in. 

Sam walks back and hands Castiel a beer, not before glancing at the various pans and knives and food abandoned on the countertop. 

“You guys making tacos?” 

“Um, yes.” Castiel barely remembers Dean shutting everything off abruptly about three hours ago before their absolutely dizzying sexcapade. 

“But everything’s cold?” Sam cocks an eyebrow and Castiel thinks _great, another wise-ass brother to deal with_ and wonders how Gabriel and Sam might get along. 

Castiel shrugs and takes a long pull at his beer. Sam just shakes his head and makes a face. Castiel likes Sam already. He has a very calming presence. He supposes that when your entire childhood is one long near-death experience it puts things into perspective. 

“So, how are things going? Are you re-adjusting to Earth alright?” 

“Oh, yes, Dean has made the transition very easy.” 

“That’s good. Man, don’t tell him I said anything, but he was a wreck while you were gone. Like, the whole time. It was hard to watch.” 

Castiel gets a slight ping of guilt and swallows it down with a little more beer. 

“He knew you’d be back though,” Sam continues, maybe sensing Castiel’s anxiety. “He’d always talk about you like you were coming back, you know? Like, we’d all go out somewhere and he’d say ‘I’m totally bringing Cas here’ or ‘Cas would hate this dive.’ I gotta say, it was kind of weird listening to my brother talk to you. It was like he had an imaginary friend.” Sam laughs, and Castiel feels like he can too, because Sam seems nice and it was a relief to hear that Dean talked about him regularly. 

“Well,” Castiel says with another chuckle, “I’m definitely not imaginary. I heard him, I just wasn’t able to respond.” 

“That’s what he said. Can I ask you a weird question?” 

Castiel figures he wants to ask something highly personal about Dean or the war or something about his wings like _what’s wrong with you and what are you doing with my brother?_ but he nods anyway. 

“So, prayers… they go to angels, not to God?” 

_Oh_ , this he feels comfortable answering. 

“Generally, yes. That’s one of the reasons why angels were created: to help take care of human needs. Generic prayers are divided up amongst certain angles and dealt with however the assigned angel sees fit. But with the war it’s nearly impossible to answer prayers. No one can leave Heaven or securely even send messages. And with God gone there’s no one around to keep the angels in line, so most prayers are thrown to the wayside. 

“Then there are angel-specific prayers, like Dean praying directly to me, which are actually pretty incredible. They can restore an angel’s grace. Most people don’t do that, though. Even some of the most devout people don’t know which angels to pray to and for what. So most people just pray hoping that someone, anyone, will hear, or to God, which I don’t think he hears anymore.” 

“So, when Dean was praying to you, you heard him and it helped you? Like, it healed your grace?” 

“Yeah. I knew it could happen, but I had never experienced it. The first time I heard him singing was after a particularly bad interaction with some of Raphael’s men. I had been stabbed. Wounds are hard to heal, since they’re usually made with an angelic blade and meant to harm beyond what grace can repair. But Dean, well, he definitely saved me more than once.” 

“Wow, I had no idea it helped angels too. I always thought it was just for people who needed guidance. I didn’t know it was so involved. Or powerful. That’s pretty neat. Angels are very interesting…” 

Castiel can see that Sam wants to say more, maybe ask another question, but after a few beats of silence Sam just takes another drink of his beer instead. 

“Not really,” Castiel begins, “we’re elemental. I’m slowly learning how complex humans are. I understand why God liked you. I also understand why he created angels to help you. The depth of emotion, everything you can feel at the same time, all while having to go about normal business like remembering to breathe and blink and keep your heart beating and urinate… it’s overwhelming. And between angels choosing to move down here and the ones that are left in Heaven are caught up in their ‘revolution’, well, I can see why there are so many people struggling down here. It’s not fair, but” 

“While dad's away the kids will play?” Sammy interjects. 

“Exactly.” Castiel takes another drink. “Play, or start pointless, endless wars.” 

“But the war is over now, isn’t it? I mean, you were able to come back, so that must mean it’s over, right?” 

Dean must have neglected to tell his brother that Castiel was essentially shoved out of Heaven. 

“No, I don’t think so.” he thinks of Anna. He’s been praying to her regularly. She’s still up there, she’s still fighting, and it doesn’t seem fair that he got to return to Earth and escape the war and she didn’t. “There is still fighting up there. Without God to rule, there will always be a power struggle. And angels love to fight. We are built for it. We are soldiers programmed to follow orders. Some angels have decided to take on the role of God and decide what those orders will be. It’s terrifying how easily we can be persuaded to join one cause or another.” 

“So, if you could, you’d go back up there and fight alongside them?” Castiel can clearly see the concern in Sam’s eyes saying _if you hurt my brother I’ll kill you_. It makes him like Sam even more. 

“Oh, no. I was never any good as an angel. They don’t want me there, and I don’t want to be there. I’d much rather be right here.” Castiel smiles at the look of approval on Sam’s face. 

Right then they hear Dean walking down the steps. 

“Sammy? S’that you?” 

“Beer’s in the fridge.” Is Sam’s reply. 

Dean walks to the kitchen, grabs a beer and opens it with even more finesse than Sam had, but he lets his bottle cap fall to the floor and tosses the bottle opener carelessly onto the counter. He joins them in the living room, sitting on the couch close to Castiel, but not before mussing up Sam’s hair as he walks by. 

“Jerk.” Sammy tamps his hair back down and tucks it behind his ears. 

“Hippie.” Dean laughs and Castiel is glad to feel Dean’s warmth so close to him again. He smells like the unscented soap in the shower – but it clearly has a scent, a scent that screams _Dean!_ into Castiel’s brain each time he breathes it in. 

“Dude, you take the longest showers.” 

They look nothing alike, the two brothers, save for the strong jaw and slightly similar eyes (Dean’s are greener, more electric, possibly due to sheer intensity of his soul), but it’s with the assured ease of motion with which Sam leans back and kicks his feet up onto the coffee table that Castiel can see how Dean and Sam are very clearly brothers. He wonders if people can say the same thing about him and Gabriel. 

“Yeah, well I was filthy.” Dean responds and elbows Castiel. 

Castiel can’t help but blush and grin and he tries to hide behind the beer bottle as he takes another drink. 

“Ew you guys.” 

“Hey, that’s what happens when you come over unannounced. Just be glad you didn’t show up two hours ago.” 

“ _Ugh!_ ” Sam feigns disgust, but he laughs and Castiel doubts that there is anyone in the world that Dean can have a bad interaction with. On stage, with his fans, talking with Sammy or Bobby or anyone else he’s ever seen Dean interact with… Dean is beautiful when he talks with people. 

He’s especially beautiful when he talks with Castiel. 

Every time Dean looks at him, Castiel notices a change in Dean – like some shift on a molecular level, as if the nuclei in every one of his cells lights up and shines out of his eyes or his smile. It creates a warmth that radiates from Dean’s chest. And it is _so pure_ , and it calls to Castiel with very intricate beats on some metaphysical level that his human form can’t quite comprehend. If he didn’t know any better, Castiel would think that maybe he does have a little grace left… 

“You guys want to help me finish the tacos?” Dean asks and they all decide to migrate to the kitchen. 

Castiel enjoys watching the brothers interact. They share embarrassing stories about each other and Castiel spends most of the evening laughing, and then eating and trying not to spit taco fillings all over as the tales continue through dinner. 

This has been the best day of his very long life. 

Then he sees Sam pass Dean a very worn, very familiar book when they believe Castiel isn’t looking. 

_This night just got so much better._


	28. Lighthouse Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Tween the sugar and the cane is a-where I wanna stay  
> (I wanna stay, wanna stay, wanna stay, wanna stay)  
> Out where the high in the highway meets the sky  
> (Meets the sky, meets the sky, meets the sky)  
> Meets the Milky white Way  
> [-Lighthouse Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_umLxw58BE8)

**Chapter 28**

The phone rings three times before Gabriel answers. 

“ _Helloooooo!”_ Gabriel’s greeting could easily be misconstrued as a high-pitched squeal instead of an actual greeting. _“_ How’s life back on Earth, angel cakes?” 

Castiel actually makes an _ugh_ sound at the endearment. 

“Gabriel…” 

“Why are you calling me on the phone? Haven’t you heard of _prayer_ or has Dean-o already turned you into a heathen?” 

“Dean has prayed more in the last three years than most people do in their entire lives…” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I don’t want to hear about your boyfriend’s weird prayer fetish.” 

“… and while you might still be able to hear prayers I cannot, and this conversation needs to be more of a give-and-take.” 

“It sounds like you’re about to ask me for a favor, as if I haven’t done enough for you already…” The jest is clear in Gabriel’s voice, but Castiel has more pressing matters to deal with than calling Gabriel out on his narcissism. 

He starts with the one that makes him sound less selfish. 

“Have you heard from Anna?” 

“Our little Agent Orange? She’s doing just fine. Kicking ass and taking names. From what I’ve heard she’s climbing the ranks at warp speed. Michael would be beaming with pride if he didn’t have his head shoved so far up his own ass that he can taste yesterday’s breakfast.” 

“Do you have to be so graphic?” 

“Do I have to? No, but it's more fun that way.” Gabriel snips. 

Castiel misses his sister and Gabriel too, and sometimes he wishes he still lived close to them. They used to see each other on a regular basis, but now – with Anna still in Heaven and Gabriel flying all over the country for work – even if he still lived in San Francisco he’d never see either of them. 

And besides, Dean isn’t in California. Well, sometimes he is when he's touring, and he spends a lot of time on the road, but home will always be here in Kansas. 

_Home._ Castiel looks around at the house he and Dean have been sharing, thinks of everything Dean has done to make it _theirs_ and not just _his_ and he’s sure, once again, that he made the right call landing in Lawrence. 

They never even discussed their living situation once Castiel returned. Besides the brief mention of it in the hospital after he fell, it was silently and mutually decided that Castiel was going to stay with Dean for good. Maybe they would revisit it at some point, but for now it was exactly what they wanted. 

He does hope that someday Anna makes it back to Earth, and that maybe she’d like to live close to him and Dean. Maybe even within driving distance so they could see each other for Sunday dinners or something familial like that. 

But Anna had always been drawn to the ocean. She appreciated the empty expanse – the opportunity to look out and find something meaningful for herself in all the nothingness. Castiel understands that now more than he had before, as he could see so much beauty in the grasslands of Kansas. He had a feeling she wouldn’t see it the same. This place would never have the same draw for her that it did for him, just as the ocean would never have the same draw for him as it had on her. 

“Now why’d you really call, brother mine?” Gabriel asks, bringing Castiel back to the conversation at hand and the real, more pressing reason for his call. 

“Can’t I just call to say hello?” 

“Only if you’re full of shit.” Gabriel states, and Castiel doesn’t draw it out any longer. 

“Do you think that I have any grace left?” He anticipates holding his breath to await the answer but Gabriel responds so quickly he doesn’t get the opportunity. 

“Yes.” 

“Really? Are you sure?” 

“Yes. Not all of it, but it’s there.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because I healed you; I was all up in your business. I touched it. _Oooh_ , that sounded _dirty_.” 

“But…” Castiel sidesteps Gabriel’s perversion. “How is that possible?” 

“Beats me. Maybe whatever shoved you out of Heaven didn’t think to collect your grace first.” 

Castiel wishes he could remember more about his final moments up there, something besides the fear and the light and the pain. There was a face, wasn’t there? It was familiar, with blue eyes _maybe_? Sort of nervous looking… but, but _who was it_ and _why were they so familiar??_ He interrupts his millionth failed attempt at recalling his fall with the question he really called to ask. 

“Do you think…” should he think this through more before asking? Not only could the answer be something he doesn’t want to hear, but also Gabriel’s older-brother douchebaggery can occasionally be too much for Castiel to handle when the topic is especially important to him. He trudges on anyway knowing full well that Gabriel is the only being on the planet who can answer his question. “Do you think I have enough to form a bond?” He tries to sound steady and sure in his tone. 

Gabriel surprises him once again with a quick, straightforward answer. 

“Yup. You’ve got grace-a-plenty whizzin’ around in there, at least enough to bond with De-” and after giving Castiel just a moment to exhale, the uncomfortable questions begin. “Wait a minute. Are you _actually_ considering a _grace bond_ with that _Winchester_ fella?” 

“His name’s Dean, Gabriel, don’t act like you don’t know who he is.” 

“But are you?” 

“I think he’s reading up on the subject. I saw him with one of the Scripts.” 

“For realsies? That’s a big deal. Is that something you’d want to do?” 

Castiel hadn’t allowed himself to answer that question quite yet. He didn’t want to say no because that would be a lie. But he couldn’t bring himself to say yes either because if he did admit that, _yes,_ he would give anything for his grace to be bound completely and eternally to Dean’s blazing bright soul, he’d be devastated to find out that Dean was only reading that particular Script for research for a song. 

“I just want to know if it’s a possibility.” He responds, figuring that’s a safe thing to say. 

“Oh _please!_ ”Gabriel is laughing, validating why Castiel had refrained from calling him for as long as possible. “It’s so _obvious_ that you’re dying to get freaky with the guy’s _élan vital._ Just do it.” 

“Do you think I could? Gabriel, do you think there’s enough for it to work?” 

“Yes, Castiel, I really do.” Castiel grins and Gabriel is quiet for a beat and then, “So, does he have a monster cock?” 

“I’m hanging up now.” 

“What? I’m just _asking_.” 


	29. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel a change in the weather  
> I feel a change in me  
> The days are getting shorter  
> And the birds begin to leave  
> Even me, yes, yes, y'all  
> Who has been so long alone  
> I'm headed home  
> Headed home  
> [-Homecoming](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8i00KNhrEm0)

**Chapter 29**

The tour is finally over, and it was awesome: five months, sixty-six cities, thirty-seven sold-out shows, four opening bands, two flat tires, and a broken stand-up bass. 

In Jacksonville, Oregon, Willie Nelson approached Dean and they sang a duet of On the Road Again (and Dean, Chuck, Ash, Jo, and Bobby definitely _didn’t_ get high with him on the bus after the show). 

Bobby scored them a gig on Conan and merch sales went through the fucking roof for about a week. 

They did a few radio interviews and a podcast interview with Sodajerker (Dean wasn’t even sure what that meant, but when Kevin found out about it he got really excited). 

Dean was interviewed for the cover story in Paste Magazine and was asked a lot of questions about his ‘new sound,’ Heaven and, of course, Castiel: _An Angel and the Inspiration for Dean Winchester’s Most Recent Album_ Cursed or Not. 

It was everything a tour should be – a whirlwind of complete fucking chaos. 

Generally Dean would be thriving in this environment, and while, yeah, it felt good to be on the road with his band and all of these incredible opportunities kept being thrown at him (Willie Nelson _are you fucking serious!?!_ ), it was never far from Dean’s mind that he had something to get home to. 

Not that Cas was always home. Dean insisted that Cas get his flight license once his wings were healed so he didn’t have an excuse to be home alone and think about his fall, and after Cas’ relentless refusal to get professional help no matter what Dean said, this seemed like the next best option. 

Dean hated leaving Cas alone for such a long period of time, so he worked with Gabriel to tag-team and encourage Cas to keep busy. Cas relented and spent a lot of time in San Francisco with Gabriel, and then enrolled in some classes at KU. 

Since Cas couldn’t decide what he really wanted to do, he took on a huge workload for a wide array of courses that all seemed to point toward early childhood development and general education and honestly, the thought of Cas working with children did things to Dean’s heart that it had no right doing (a grown man’s heart wasn’t supposed to flutter like that, right?). He also signed up for a Beekeeping for Beginner’s workshop and a French cooking class (that he was failing miserably, by the way). 

Cas started hosting a book club, and sometimes Dean would laugh at the titles that he’d pick for the group. Secretly, however, while he was away on tour, he’d pick up whatever book they were reading and follow along. He didn’t actually tell Cas that he did this, and he never got to discuss the books with Cas or his group, but it made him feel more connected to Cas nonetheless. 

Occasionally Cas would pop up at whichever concert venue the band would be playing at. Dean would see him in the crowd like he had on that first night in San Francisco and his heart would practically leap out of his chest all over again. 

Sometimes when Cas wasn’t at the show, Dean would call him after a few drinks to tell him how much he missed him. It was pathetic on Dean’s part, but Cas would always show up after that and they’d either have sex or, depending on how drunk Dean actually was, Cas would put out a few aspirin and two bottles of water and try to get Dean undressed and under the blankets before he passed out. 

At first he loved that Cas always showed up, but at one point mid-tour it dawned on him: _what if he keeps showing up because he’s afraid I’m going to get drunk and sleep with someone else like I did before?_

And then, 

_What if I do?_

It was a sobering thought. 

And while Cas denied that was the reason he’d always shown up when Dean was drunk, he still immediately agreed to Dean’s compromise: if Dean cut back (like, _way_ back) on his drinking, Cas would start seeing a therapist. 

Because yeah, Dean was worried about him. Nothing seemed wrong with Cas – not yet – but if it all built up, if he didn’t fully digest what happened to him in Heaven, he’d crack. That wall would break eventually and Dean couldn’t let it get to that point. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t do something to help. 

So Dean gave up drinking (only while touring) and Cas started seeing Dr. Barnes (only for an hour on Thursday mornings) and, although Dean wasn’t sure she was actually a therapist, she came highly recommended by Bobby and Cas seemed to really like her so that was good enough for now. 

Baby steps, right? 

But now Dean is heading home, and the plan he put in motion shortly after Cas fell fourteen months ago, the plan that all started with that ratty old book from Sammy’s Stanford professor, is about to reach its apex and Dean is fucking nervous. 

Since he first thought of this idea, and with each step he’s taken to execute the plan, the research he’s done, the favors he’s asked of Sammy and that crackpot Balthazar… he has gotten more and more nervous to the point that he feels sick when he thinks about it too much. 

There is just so much that could go wrong. 

The timing could be off, for one thing, although he did the research and worked with Bobby to be sure that his tour schedule would align with the end of Cas’ molt. Dean would be really surprised if he got it wrong. When he gets home tonight, Cas should be about five or six days into an approximately ten-day molt (his first molt since his second fall), which would allow Dean the opportunity to get two days of rest at home before setting the next part of his plan in motion. 

Besides the timing, there was the weather. September in Lawrence could be unpredictable, what with the thunderstorms and temperature fluctuations and the ever-present threat of a tornado…or five. Of course Dean had a backup plan for this as well, but it wasn’t ideal because in order to properly and effectively groom an angel’s wings he needed sunlight, moonlight, privacy, and lots of space. 

So, timing and weather, two pretty important factors. But Dean couldn’t forget the most significant, most terrifying thing that could go wrong. 

Cas could say no. 

That’s what Dean worries about the most. Because if Cas says no – if Cas says no, to the grooming, to the bonding, to building a life with Dean – he really doesn’t know what to do next. This is so big, and it means so much more than anything else Dean has done with his life, and if Cas denies him… 

What then? 

He would break, he knew that for sure. Before he’d met Cas, Dean figured that someday, maybe, he’d settle down with a wife and have a few kids. He’d continue to tour until he was old and fat and all of his fans were too. Maybe he’d write a memoire that a few people would read but most would buy just to have sitting on their bookshelves. But since that night in San Francisco – since he saw the bluest fucking eyes he’d ever seen staring at him, getting closer and closer until Dean could barely think straight – he just _knew_. 

_Soul mates?_ No, not soul mates. That’s a pathetic comparison. 

This was so much more than that. 

Cas was everything. Cas was all of his missing pieces. He was the acceptance that he craved and the grounding that he needed. Cas knew _all_ of Dean, and Dean had given it all up willingly. It was easy with Cas, even when it was hard. 

Cas was love, pure and true. 

So, the thought of Cas saying no, denying Dean of what he knew to be so _good_ , saying no to a future with Dean… it was horrifying. It would ruin him. 

But, then again, Cas could say yes. 

And _that_ is worth everything. 


	30. Make Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little rest for a spell  
> A little water from your well  
> A little shade from the shade of your door  
> That is all that I need  
> And I believe those might be  
> The truest words that I've ever said before  
> [-Make me Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tlCctDT5psQ)

**Chapter 30**

Once Dean had read the Script from Balthazar twice, from cover to cover (or the translated parts, at least), he figured that step one of his plan would be to fill their house with feathers. 

That started about three months after Cas fell, when he accidentally walked in on Cas in the bathroom. 

“Shit, dude, sorry! The door was... _what the hell are you doing?!_ ” He'd walked in just in time to see Cas yank out one of his longest flight feathers on his right wing with such force that Dean could actually hear the _pop_ of it tearing away from the skin. 

The floor was littered with giant feathers and Cas' eyes were red-rimmed and shining. 

“They’re too long and people keep stepping on them. Trust me, plucking them is much less painful than cutting them…” he said with another swift _yank_ of another carefully selected feather, making another gruesome crunch sounding like the dislocation of a finger. A tremor shook through the massive wing. 

“Dude you gotta stop!” Dean looked away. He loved those wings so much, he couldn’t just stand there and watch Cas tear them apart. 

Cas had tried to explain that it was just something he had to do, that he had always done it, and that it was a small price to pay for being able to live comfortably on Earth. But Dean wasn’t buying it. He knew it had to hurt like a son of a bitch. 

Dean is aware of how hard he pulls on those feathers when they fuck. He knows how rough he can get once Cas starts begging for him to touch them. It seems that the rougher he is, the harder he pulls and scratches at the wings, the louder Cas screams – the harder Cas comes – and it’s fucking _awesome…_

But this… what Cas is doing is only causing him pain. Dean knows how hard he pulls on the feathers and they don’t budge; so how hard is Cas pulling to get them to rip out like that? 

When Cas got in the shower afterwards, Dean collected the feathers, twelve total, and inspected them. Sure enough the ends that had been torn from the wings were tipped red with blood, and the other ends were frayed and matted from being dragged and stepped on. 

They were still fucking gorgeous though, and Dean tied them all together with a twist tie from the kitchen and propped them up between the bed and his nightstand. He wanted to keep them, just like he had with the few feathers that Cas lost after his first night here. (Those were hidden in Dean’s sock drawer.) 

Months later and Dean still kept every feather that Cas shed because the first translation in the Script that Balthazar had sent to Sammy for Dean stated: _Nesting is an instinctual behavior in all angels to display courtship and the desire to bond and/or mate. An angel will build a nest using the fallen feathers of the angel he/she wishes to mate in combination with his/her own feathers. If the nest is deemed unsatisfactory upon inspection, the intended mate will begin to collect his/her feathers, ultimately disassembling the nest and rejecting the pursuer. If the nest is deemed satisfactory by the intended mate upon inspection, the intended mate will offer a single feather to the pursuer in acceptance of the nest._

There are black feathers all over the house now because Dean didn’t really know what he was doing at first. 

The big feathers, like the flight feathers, he started sticking into a bucket full of white pebbles and it sits in the corner of their bedroom. There are about twenty or so feathers over four feet long sticking out of there now. 

The smaller, downy feathers got packed away into little cloth pouches that Dean always seems to have in abundance in one of the several junk drawers in the garage. The two full pouches are perched on a shelf in Dean’s music room. 

All the other in-between feathers get tucked into books or among the pages in his lyric journals. A few stick out of empty beer bottles that line the windowsill in the kitchen. 

Originally this whole _nest_ thing seemed like a major roadblock, seeing how Dean himself didn’t have any feathers to build a nest with. Was he supposed to use his hair? Was hair the closest thing he had to feathers? And was that why Cas wasn’t responding to it? 

As far as Dean could tell, Cas hadn’t attempted to _disassemble_ the nest Dean was trying to build, but he also hadn’t willingly offered a feather to Dean in acceptance of the nest. Granted, Dean had not combined Cas’ feathers with any of his own – at least not technically, since he didn’t have any – but Cas couldn’t have been oblivious to the fact that his feathers now decorated their home. 

In a moment of weakness, Dean emailed Balthazar his concerns and the response was short and to the point: _That is utterly disgusting. Do NOT use human hair to build a nest. Think of it this way – a feather is the manifestation of an angel’s grace. If a human had a physical manifestation of its soul, what would it be?_

The fuck did that even mean? _Manifestation of its soul?_

“Well, your soul is basically your essence, right?” Sammy offered his help one evening shortly after Balthazar’s response, when Cas and Dean went over to Sammy and Jess’ for dinner. Cas was outside pushing the twins on the swing set (and Jess was taking pictures of them all, of course) before it got too chilly, while Sammy and Dean were in the kitchen prepping the chicken for the grill. “It’s like, your spirit. It gives you life and meaning” 

“God, you’re such a hippie.” 

“Do you want help with this or not?” 

Sammy had a point and an epic bitchface. Dean shut up and gestured for him to continue. 

“So, like I was saying, I think if you consider what’s most important to you, the things that make your life worth living, and then figure out what the ‘ _physical manifestations’_ or whatever, of those might be, then maybe those things could be considered your feathers.” 

“Huh.” Dean considered this for a minute until he was interrupted. 

“Dude, I can’t believe you were going to use your hair. That’s so gross.” 

“Shut your cakehole Sammy!” 

Dean didn’t really need to think that hard about what made his life worth living. Three things were always there when he felt like it was game over. Even during the lowest lows – being homeless, watching Sammy struggle through cancer treatment after cancer treatment, mom dying in the fire, dad dying by his own stupid drunk-ass, Cas getting shipped off to Heaven for years – there were three things that always pushed Dean out of the darkness, kept him sane, kept him from blowing his own goddamn brains out. 

Family, music, and the road. 

That was it. It was simple. 

Family. Music. The road. 

Sammy. Guitar. Impala. 

Those were his feathers. 

Dean realized that he didn’t need to fill his entire life with feathers, but he needed to focus on the three key elements – his three feathers – and build his nest with those. 

And maybe he already knew this on some subconscious level, because the two feathers that Cas had left in Dean’s hotel room after their first night together and before he was sent back to Heaven, Dean had always kept those in his guitar case, tucked into the worn velvet lining, along with the letter that Cas wrote him. 

Those two feathers had gone on every tour, been to every show, and stayed in every hotel room with him since. 

There was also a leather, oil-stained pouch full of feathers hanging from the rearview mirror of the Impala, along with three other feathers all tied together with a thin wire. 

Dean swears that sometimes when he’s driving and the light hits them just right he can see a hint of the greens and gold and blues that Cas had talked about before. 

Dean’s final feather is built into the nest the night before Dean is set to leave on his latest tour. They had gone over to Sam and Jess’ for dinner, and just before they are about to say their goodbyes and head home Dean takes a feather, a small one – about the size of his index finger – out of his wallet. 

“Can, uh, can I keep this here?” he asks. Jess looks confused but Sammy is positively beaming. 

“Of course, Dean.” Sammy says, taking the dark feather gently. 

Dean’s heart feels too big for his chest. 

The drive home is quiet. Cas shoots him strange looks but doesn’t say anything. When they fuck that night it’s long and slow and quiet. They’re both thinking of something else but the pleasure is keeping them rooted to the moment. It builds and builds and when they finally come together it’s with silent shouts and heady sighs and muffled _I love you_ sand _I’ll miss you_ s. 

The next night when Dean opens his guitar case for the first sound check for the first show of the tour, he sees a third feather tucked in with the original two. 

_If the nest is deemed satisfactory by the intended mate upon inspection, the intended mate will offer a single feather to the pursuer in acceptance of the nest._

Months later, now that the tour was over and Dean was heading home, to calm his nerves, he had to keep reminding himself that Cas had _accepted his nest_. 

The second translation in the Script states: _Once a nest has been accepted, the pursuer may offer to groom and prepare the intended’s wings for bonding and/or mating. Preparations for mating can only be done during the molt of the intended mate. If the intended mate is pleased with the presentation of his/her feathers after the grooming, the pursuer may then offer himself/herself to the intended mate, formally stating their intentions to bond and/or mate._

Even after all of the time Dean spent thinking about how amazing it would be to groom Cas’ wings, and even after reading every bit of legitimate literature he and Sammy could find on the subject of grooming angel wings, he still feels like he is going in way underprepared. 

When Dean walks in the house he sees feathers scattered all over the floor. 

Cas is in full-on molt-mode. 

“Cas! I’m home! You here?” he shouts from the doorway, taking off his boots. A muffled _upstairs!_ comes from their bedroom. Dean not-so-gracefully tip-toes through the minefield of feathers that litter the carpet and makes his way to the stairs, taking a breath while trying to muster up as much confidence as he can. 


	31. Where the Night Goes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I make the rounds and pay my dues  
> Meet up with friends and I dream about you  
> It isn’t much but it’s still a lot  
> Sometimes honey I still get lost  
> In those long nights, old cars  
> Backroads and the boneyards  
> You dropped the pedal like a holy roller  
> Sheriff of hell couldn’t pull you over  
> [-Where the Night Goes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PoCiFjLZh8)

**Chapter 31**

“Hey!” Cas walks out of the master bathroom, his wings looking haggard. “I’m so glad you’re home.” His face is a little paler than usual but he’s smiling. He’s always so happy when Dean comes home. 

“You alright?” Dean walks to him, carefully navigating around even more feathers, and kisses his cheek, then his lips sort of by accident as he moves into his body, pressing against him and marveling at just how well they fit together. It doesn’t matter how long he’s gone. Dean always misses this. 

“Yes. Just tired. I’m molting. It’s irritating.” Cas explains, his words punctuated with his kisses. 

“My poor, poor angel.” Dean tangles his fingers in Cas’ hair and holds him in place, kissing around his ears and neck and cheeks, everywhere, every bit of skin he missed while he was away. 

“Yes, yes. Poor me. Please pity me.” Cas sighs. 

“How long have you been molting?” Dean asks, trying to be sneaky and failing. 

“Eight days. Can’t you tell by all my shiny new feathers?” Cas shakes out his wings in a faux display. 

Dean’s stomach does a flip. 

“ _Eight days?_ ” There goes Dean’s opportunity to get any rest before embarking on the most significant thing he’s ever done. “You sure?” 

“Yes, very sure. Why?” 

"I just feel bad… I was gone while you were… you know?” 

Cas just gives him a skeptical look and Dean distracts him with light suckles on his neck. Well, it’s now or never. 

“Cas,” Dean speaks into the side of Cas’ throat, dragging his teeth along the delicate skin there. “Can I take you somewhere?” 

“But I, I-I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing.” Cas leans into Dean’s touches, wings fluffed up along the arches and twitching. 

“I’ll keep going,” Dean promised, “but not here. I want to take you someplace special. You trust me?” 

With a groan Cas agrees, and Dean is somehow able to pull away – but not without a few more kisses and nuzzles into his neck. All Dean wants to do is bury himself in Castiel’s wings, but that’s going to have to wait. 

“Okay. Can you go grab the cooler and pack it with whatever we got?” Dean digs in his pocket and hands Cas the key to the Impala. “I’m going to grab a few things and I’ll meet you in the garage in two minutes.” 

“What are you planning, Dean Winchester?” Cas asks, squinting incredulously at Dean but smirking at the same time. “Is it a picnic?” 

“You’ll see.” Dean kisses Cas again, letting it linger, tasting it all before pulling away and trying not to think of worst-case scenarios. 

Cas heads downstairs, presumably to pack the ice chest, and Dean dumps his packed duffle out on the bed. Balthazar’s translated Script goes back in the bag, as well as a semi-clean pair of underwear, a shirt, and a travel size mouthwash. Then he takes the contents from a box he’s been hiding in the back of the closet – a soft-bristled feather brush and an unopened bottle of organic wing oil – and adds them to his duffle as well. 

Dean then folds up the king size comforter and slings it over his shoulder. In one hand he has his guitar case, which contains his favorite guitar and Castiel’s feathers, and in the other hand he has his duffle and he makes it halfway down the stairs before he realizes that he forgot the bottle of lube in his nightstand drawer. He sprints back up the steps, grabs the bottle, stuffs it in a small outer pocket of his bag, and heads toward the garage. 

When he gets there, Cas has already loaded the cooler into the trunk and is waiting patiently in the front seat. If this all goes according to plan, one of the next priorities on Dean’s list is to install a new passenger seat that is designed to comfortably accommodate angel wings. Right now it looks like Cas is sitting up too straight. 

Dean adds the blanket and duffle to the trunk and then sets his guitar in the back seat before sliding himself into the driver’s seat and taking the keys from Cas’ outstretched palm. 

“Hey there gorgeous.” He turns the key in the ignition and the car roars to life. “Oh, I know, I missed you too Baby…” Dean runs his hands along the dash and steering wheel while revving the engine and speaking in a way that that would have most people raising serious questions about who he loves more, Cas or the car, but Cas just accepts and ignores it completely. 

“You didn’t give me time to prepare anything nice. If I would have known you wanted to rush out of the house on such short notice…” 

“What? You would have made that _cocky vein_ crap again that neither of us could stomach? Cas, I love you, but you need to cool it with the French cuisine.” 

Cas rolls his eyes. 

“It’s called _Coq a Vin_ , and it wasn’t that bad. You just have the palate of a seven year old. Lucky for you I packed hot dogs.” 

Dean is so in love it’s stupid. 

“Where are we going?” Cas asks. 

“It’s a surprise.” Dean smiles as he backs down the drive way and turns toward his childhood home, a place he hasn’t been in years. 

Dean owns the home now and will probably never be willing to sell it or rent it out, and he definitely couldn't live there again. He bought it back from the bank as soon as his half of his dad’s life insurance money came in. Hell, half of their belongings from Dean’s brief childhood are still in the house. Sammy’s crib is still in the nursery. 

The fire damage had been repaired long ago, but his mother’s death still lingered there. 

The house is about twenty miles outside of Lawrence, smack dab in the middle of a whole lot of nothing, but it’s Sunday evening and there is no one on the road so they get there in well under half an hour. 

When Dean turns the car up the long dirt driveway to the house he has an overwhelming desire to turn back and run, but he glances over at Cas who is staring at the house in front of them. Dean doesn't even need to say anything. Cas knows exactly what this is. 

Dean parks close to the front porch and they get out of the car, the doors creaking loudly over the sound of the cicadas in the early evening.


	32. You've Got the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stars and satellites and clouds  
> Everything tonight is floating  
> I am too so I hold your hand  
> And up above the moon is rowing  
> And here I am holdin' on to you  
> And you've got the moon  
> [-You've Got the Moon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EExPjFhyWPE)

**Chapter 32**

“This is your home, isn’t it?” Castiel asks, trying to figure out why Dean would bring him here. Why would Dean want to come back to this place? Castiel had heard about the fire many times in Dean’s prayers: how he’d have nightmares, how he could remember choking on the smoke and the burning in his lungs when his father shoved Sam into Dean’s tiny arms and told him to get outside. Why would Dean want to come back to this? 

“Yup. It is. C’mon.” Dean elbows him in the arm, “grab the cooler and the blanket, I’ll get the rest.” 

With their arms full, they walk up the steps onto the porch. It is decrepit with clear signs that no one has lived here or taken care of it in a long while. The grass is far too long, and the curtains in the windows are sun-bleached and moth-eaten. 

It had probably been an idyllic home at one point, warm and welcoming with patio furniture and a flower garden, the smell of apple pie wafting from the kitchen windows in the summer. But right now it looked, for all intents and purposes, like it was haunted. 

Dean’s key ring had three keys on it: one to the house they had been sharing for the past 14 months, one to the Impala, and one to this house. Castiel watches him separate the key to this house and open the door, jimmying it a little and putting a heavy shove with his shoulder into it to get it to open. 

The place smells like dust and wood and mildew. It’s a heavy, intoxicating scent. The living room is still mostly furnished with large pieces that are ratty and ruined. The only light they have is emanating from the western-facing windows. The sun is hanging low in the sky and casts a warm glow, highlighting the swirling dust they’ve stirred up with their presence. 

“I, uh, we’re not going to be in here for long. Just wanted to grab a few things. Stay here.” Dean heads up the stairs and they creak under his weight. Castiel worries, but it seems like they may have always creaked because it doesn’t seem to faze Dean whatsoever. 

He can hear Dean’s heavy boots on the floor above him as he wanders through what once was a living room. It doesn’t seem fair to call it that anymore. Everything is covered in a thick layer of grime and dust, some of which Castiel blows off of what appears to be a framed photograph sitting alone on the mantle. 

Instantly he regrets doing so. Castiel has unwittingly uncovered a small piece of Dean’s painful past. It’s a family photo. A tall, lovely blond woman with a wide smile stands next to a tall, handsome man, each with a child in their arms. The woman holds a round, roly-poly of a baby in her arms, all chubby cheeks and arms, while the man holds a young boy, no more than four years old, and so unmistakably Dean. He’s got a red and blue baseball cap on and he’s pointing at his little brother, legs dangling freely around his father’s thighs in untied sneakers. 

“Cute family, huh?” Dean is right behind him then, resting his chin on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel had been too enthralled with the photo to hear him approach, and he doesn’t know what to say as Dean gazes at the picture. He opens his mouth to apologize for prying, for unearthing this picture after it had been buried in years of neglect; but when he notices the armful of practically disintegrating blankets Dean has in his arms something else comes out instead. 

“More blankets?” 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Come on.” The gleam in Dean’s eyes comes back in a flash, reigniting the anticipation that Castiel had tried to keep choked down on the drive here. Dean is leading him through the living room and kitchen, out the back door, and into the backyard. 

It isn’t exactly a backyard, though. It’s a field of tall brown grasses expanding out as far as they can see. They walk out a ways, Castiel trusting that they’re walking the flat expanse of this dead field for a reason. 

“Sixty acres of nothing,” says Dean lovingly, breaking the silence, “so there’s plenty of space. And it’s private so no one will be able to see…” 

“I’m sorry Dean, there is plenty of space for what, exactly?” Castiel knows what’s coming, he knows what Dean is planning and what he’s been hinting at for months now but he wants to hear it said out loud, needs it out in the open. 

“For you to stretch your wings.” Dean says it like it’s the most casual, normal thing he’s ever said. It’s not quite what Castiel is expecting, but Dean continues. “I did some reading, and it said that having space to stretch helps during a molt. Same with sunlight and moonlight. It’s supposed to be purifying, or something.” 

They keep stomping through the field. Castiel’s mind is jumping from one thought to the next, trying to draw a conclusion, trying to get to the point before Dean needs to explain it, but Dean keeps talking as he often does when he’s nervous. 

“And, uh, you’re molting, so I thought maybe we’d come out here, spend a night or two. It’s not a full moon yet but it’s close, and if you’ll let me,” Dean clears his throat, “I’d like to help. You know, with your wings. I was kinda hoping, I donno, that maybe we could do what you told me mates do.” 

Castiel sees all of the beauty of this field now. It’s no longer just a brown patch of grass in the middle of Kansas. It is pure gold in the evening sunlight, even sparkling with a few late-summer lightning bugs. 

There is nothing as beautiful as this meadow and the promise it holds. 

It is where he and Dean are going to bond. 

The tall grass tickles his hands as he walks, easily bending and bowing, making a path for the two men to walk through. The breeze is cool and sings with the grass a dry duet. This dead old parcel of land is the closest thing to Heaven-That-Was that Castiel has ever experienced. 

He’s captivated and completely speechless as they continue walking, and walking, and walking… 

And when he looks back the house is far behind them. 

“I wish you’d say something.” Dean stops and grabs Castiel by the shoulder. He looks anxious and scratches at the back of his neck. “Listen, Cas, if you don’t want to do this, I just thought… I don’t know what I was thinking, man.” 

“This is a good spot,” Castiel decides, looking Dean in the eyes and watching as hope extinguishes the doubt that was plaguing him. Dean doesn’t say anything else, but gives a definitive nod, and they begin to spread the blankets out over the grass. They tamp down the blankets, stomping on them to make a flat space and then Dean sets the cooler, duffle, and guitar case strategically along the edges to keep the blankets down. 

When it’s finished they find themselves in their own modest sanctuary of blankets, shielded by the waist-high grass and weeds. 

Dean surveys the nest they have created and smiles, and Castiel's wings flutter in anticipation of happens next. 


	33. Good Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My hands held on my mind let go  
> And back to you my heart went skipping  
> I found the inside of the road  
> Thought about the first time that I met you  
> All those glances that we stole  
> Sometimes, if you want them then you've got to  
> Babe we both had dry spells  
> Hard times in bad lands  
> I'm a good man for ya  
> I'm a good man  
> [-Good Man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IBeiOAgH4lY)

**Chapter 33**

How was there ever a time before Dean? How was there _time_ before Dean? 

How did Castiel live for millennia without the overwhelming feelings of love toward this stubborn and gentle and patient man?

How did he ever get by without the taste and feel of him? Without the warmth and comfort that radiates from him and permeates his entire being? 

He never realized he was capable of a love so deep. 

And what about all those _what ifs_? _What if_ Dean hadn’t chased him down after the show in Sacramento? _What if_ Anna and Gabriel hadn’t agreed to drive up the coast with him? Would he have gone alone? _What if_ he’d never written the letter? _What if_ Dean had never prayed? _What if_ Castiel would have been killed in the war and never got the chance to… 

All of Castiel’s worries are interrupted by Dean who sidles up to him, comfortably moving against Castiel like he has a hundred times before, pulling him in and placing tiny little spine-tingling kisses along his neck and collar bone. It doesn’t seem fair that he went so long without this. But at the same time Castiel feels completely unworthy. He owes Dean so much and he’s ready and willing to offer him everything he has – a lifetime and then some. 

He wants to fill Dean’s soul with the magic and power of being an angel so that Dean can look at him and know that angels were and still could be exactly what he always needed them to be. 

And Castiel is a celestial being _for fucks sake_ , so while the rules and regulations that the government places upon angels had taken away much of the magic of what he really was, he was still an Angel of the Lord. 

“What do you need me to do?” Dean mumbles against Castiel’s throat, his breath tickling in a way that makes it really hard for Castiel to focus. 

“Stand over there, please.” The words are barely more than a murmur, but he gestures to the opposite side of the blanket and Dean does as asked, then turns and looks at Castiel, wide-eyed and expectant. 

“I haven’t done much to them since my molt began, and… just, please don’t be too disappointed if…” he’s cut off. 

“Cas, just shut up. That’s not a possibility, trust me.” There is no fire behind Dean’s words, just shameless desire and anticipation as he stands completely still, save for the heavy rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Castiel takes a long look at Dean and tries to relax before tugging his shirt over his head and dropping it on the ground. 

Castiel looks at the meadow that surrounds them. The sun is still dancing over the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink and casting a reddish glow over the earth. What if his wings still had those hints of color in them? How would they look in this light? He takes a quick glance at them and they’re still black, of course. 

Rolling out his neck and shoulders Castiel can feel the stiffness in his joints from not using his wings nearly enough. He rolls the tight shoulders of his wings and shakes them out lightly. Even the slightest tremor running through his wings causes a great deal of movement and it can catch people off guard. He’s spent so much energy focused on keeping his wings still so as not to startle people that it feels somewhat alien to do this on purpose. 

Dean doesn’t even flinch. He looks focused, excited, and encouraging Castiel to continue. 

So Castiel moves slowly, the joints aching from disuse. He raises his wings well above his head, keeping them tucked in and it feels _so good_ , his whole body thrumming with the sudden release of tension from every neglected muscle and bone. 

Finally, he extends his wings out fully, each reaching far beyond the perimeter of their nest. Castiel cannot help but sigh as he finally unfolds his wings, stretching them until they refuse to extend any farther, then straining just a bit more causing the feathers at the tips to tremble. 

He bends and flexes at every joint, working out the kinks and rigidity and feeling his own feathers move against his skin. Then he raises his wings high above his head and beats them down, slapping them against the ground, not fast enough to lift himself, but just fast enough for them to make a loud _swoosh_ and beat the grass down. He does it again. And again. 

He doesn’t register the moan before it escapes his mouth. _Fuck_ this feels good. Not only on his wing joints and muscles, but he can feel the loose feathers from his molt releasing, making way for new ones. 

Then there's his grace, that reticent force that has been kept quiet inside of his wings; he can hear it now – the faint whisper of what is left of it, calling to him, saying _yes_ over and over. 

Dean hasn’t even groomed Castiel’s wings yet and already he’s received their approval. Castiel smiles at the proclamation of something he already knew to be true because for once he and his grace are working in tandem. 

“ _Cas_.” 

Dean’s voice brings Castiel back into the moment. 

Castiel has closed his eyes. _Shit._ He curses himself, as the whole reason for this display was to watch Dean, to see his reaction and remember it. To make sure that he was giving Dean some kind of happiness or hope that yes, angels really are as wonderful as you believe. 

When Castiel opens his eyes, his breath is taken from his chest at the sight. 

Dean has fallen to his knees and he is looking up at Castiel. At first he thinks he may have knocked Dean down, maybe with the force of his wing beats or maybe it was too much and he really was afraid, but the look of the utmost admiration and trust on Dean’s face said otherwise. 

“Are you alright?” Castiel steps toward Dean and drops to his knees, wings tucking back in the practiced motion of trying to make himself as small as possible. “Dean, what is it?” 

Dean swallows hard and his voice wavers when he finally says, “Is this what you looked like in Heaven?” 

That Dean can look at Castiel and see something of the beautiful Heaven he believes exists… well, that’s really something, isn’t it? 

Castiel smiles. 

“Maybe,” he responds thoughtfully, not wanting to ruin the illusion or give Dean false hope. “I haven’t actually seen myself in Heaven.” 

“It’s – ” Dean stammers and reaches out gingerly to touch one of Castiel’s wings. Castiel slowly opens his wings again and Dean never finishes his sentence. Castiel expands them as wide as they’ll go, he lifts them high over his head, spreading the tips of them, casting a shadow over Dean and marveling at the look on Dean’s face as he stares up at them, mouth agape, eyes wide, completely and utterly in awe. 

The sun continues to fall over the horizon, but its warmth on his wings and on the feathers that hadn’t seen the light in far too long radiates though his entire body. He shakes his wings out and a few more feathers come loose. He looks up at his wings, a little embarrassed, feeling exposed and unworthy of the attention that Dean is giving him. Dean’s fingers are gripping Castiel’s hips, an unrelenting pressure to keep Castiel grounded and Dean steady as he stares up at the wings towering over them both. 

“I’m not going to fly away, Dean.” Castiel says, gently placing his hands over Dean’s, thumbs caressing his soft wrists. Dean doesn’t look at him, just continues to stare up at the dark wings. 

“Somehow that’s hard to believe.” 

Castiel brings his wings down slowly so as not to frighten Dean, who seems to be in a trance. He wraps the wings around them both, encompassing them. 

“Why would I fly away? All I want is right in front of me, if you’ll have me.” 

“Of course.” Dean’s voice is quiet but sure.


	34. See Me Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where are the statues  
> Colossal and bronze  
> That stood at the gates of  
> Our great love and kept watch  
> And now over the hills  
> Over the horizon  
> Somebody’s army advances  
> And I have faith in you darling  
> Even when I question our chances  
> [-See Me Through](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sFdwNmJKeyQ)

**Chapter 34**

The steadfastness in his own voice surprises him. 

This is a big deal. 

A grace bond with an angel wasn’t just for life, it was for _ever –_ beyond this lifetime and into the next. It was the promise of eternity and, provided Dean doesn’t royally fuck up his life or sell his soul or do something equally stupid, provided Dean gets into Heaven, he would be with Cas until the end of time. 

_Holy shit._

If there was ever a moment to panic it was right fucking now. 

Forever? For- _freakin’-_ ever? Dean can’t even comprehend what _forever_ really means! He’s only thirty seven years old, which means anything in his life that _feels like forever ago_ actually happened within the last thirty-seven years and thirty seven ain’t even close to _forever_ . 

Plus he’s only known Cas for what, like, almost five years? And for three and a half years the guy wasn’t even on the fuckin’ planet. 

Why the fuck hasn’t he thought about this already? Why did he wait until right fuckin’ now to start freaking out? 

He had read the Script and a bond could _technically_ be broken, but it was a painful process, especially for the angel since it would sever their grace and leave them weak. Essentially it ruptures the angel’s grace and leaves the broken shell of an angel to fend for itself. 

He could never do that to Cas. The thought alone makes him hate himself for even contemplating such a thing. All Dean wants to do, all he’s ever wanted since he met his angel, is _be_ with him. To care for him and fight with him, to worry about him and laugh with him, and probably laugh at him a lot since he’s such a dork sometimes. He wants a life with Cas. 

Not only that – he wants a life with Cas on Earth _and_ in Heaven. 

Dean wants to claim and be claimed. 

Besides, hasn’t Dean always considered Cas to be _his_ angel? 

Ah, yeah. That’s right. Dean _has_ had this conversation with himself before. He’s freaked out about all of this already. Many times. And, he now remembers, he always comes back to the same conclusion. 

Yes, forever is unfathomable. It’s so outrageously unintelligible that it’s meaningless to him. But how he feels about Cas? That he knows for certain, and it means more than what _forever_ may or may not be. 

“Dean,” Cas brings Dean back to the moment with a single, gentle touch of a thumb on his cheek. He can hardly look Cas in the eye until Cas says, “do you want to brush my wings?” 

Dean snaps his eyes up to meet Cas’ so fast that the deep blue irises actually take him by surprise. 

Cas smiles. 

“I saw the brush and oil in the closet. You’re really terrible at hiding things…” 

“I do. Yes, Cas, I want to.” A breathy, pathetic interruption was all Dean was capable of. He can’t even muster the gumption to feign offense and ask why the hell Cas was snooping around in the back of the closet in the first place. He just wants to get his hands on those wings. 

Cas leans back, propping himself up with his wings, reaches for the duffle, and hands it to Dean. While Dean rummages through it, pulling out the brush and oil, Cas lies down on his stomach, rests his head on his crossed arms, and drapes his left wing over Dean’s lap. 

Dean takes a deep breath, dots the fine bristles at the head of the brush with the oil, sets it gently at the base of Cas’ wings and begins to stroke, following the feathers down. It isn’t until Cas lets out a satisfied little moan that Dean registers that he’s following every brushstroke by carding his fingers through the feathers. 

“Am I doing this right?” he asks, because even though the feathers are straightening out and getting shinier as the oil soaks in, he wants to be completely sure that this is what he’s supposed to be doing. 

“Mmmmmm…” is the only lazy response he gets from Cas. 

“I’ll take that as a yes then…” Dean grins and continues. He adds more oil and keeps brushing, stopping every now and then to work on a particular patch of stubborn feathers, removing the old ones that failed to drop during the first stages of the molt. Cas allows Dean to move the wing as needed, bending and flexing it at every joint, holding it up to get the underside. 

Silently, Dean recites the names of the feathers as he grooms them. When Sammy first handed him the book with a page marked of a color-coded diagram of the topography of an angel’s feathers, Dean thought it was kind of overkill. But it didn’t take him long to memorize what they were called and how to touch them, how they should (and definitely shouldn’t) be moved. 

So Dean knows that the _tertials_ might be a little more, um, sensitive than the rest. Those were the feathers that Dean liked to touch when he was buried inside of Cas, so while he brushes them he makes sure to press a little harder with his fingertips until Cas moans. 

He is extra gentle when he gets to the _alulas_ since they’re already all fluffy and keep twitching. They are delicate little things – or as delicate as angel feathers could be – but as Dean runs his hands over them to smooth them down they spring back up like nothing happened. 

_Scapulars_ and _coverts_ are the tough ones on the outer side of the wing. They can take a beating and they help protect the _primaries_ on the inside of the wing. 

Dean may or may not have looked up what made angel wings different from a bird’s wings, and besides the size (and the grace, let’s not forget that the power of friggin’ Heaven was lodged in there somewhere) there wasn’t much of a difference. 

He would _not_ be bringing this up with Cas any time soon, and especially not right now when Cas looks so happy and peaceful and always gets so worked up when Dean even so much as mentions birds. Weirdo. 

Occasionally as Dean works his way around the wing, Cas shivers and sometimes he makes noise, like a gasp or a moan. A few times he beats his right wing against the ground. At least once Dean notices his hips slowly grinding into the blankets, just so slightly it could barely be considered movement. 

They don’t speak and everything is quiet except for the soft _shhhh_ of the breeze through the grass, and the chirp of crickets has replaced the hiss of the cicadas. Only when the sun has fallen completely behind the distant hills does Dean stand up, crack his back, and move to the right wing. 

Dean had touched Cas’ wings a lot. _A lot_ a lot. But never like this. 

He’s confident now in his brush strokes and movements. He’s sure to touch every feather of the giant wings, not just to make sure that each one is perfect, but also so when he looks at Cas he can say for certain that he _knows_ these wings, intimately and absolutely. No one else will ever be able to say that they’ve touched every feather on the wings of this extraordinary angel because they are _his_ and Cas is _his_ and Dean doesn’t like to share. 

Dean has spent a lot of time trying to figure out what it was about Castiel’s wings that make him so crazy and possessive. Is it how they felt, the feathers flexible and soft as silk but attached to a wing made of muscle so completely solid and seemingly unmovable? 

Is it the way they communicate with Dean on a completely different level than anything he’d ever experienced? Is it the reactions he could draw from Cas when he’d stroke them or touch them in a certain way? Is it the way Cas wrapped them around him as a shield from worry and anxiety and real life? 

Or, is it the man who exists between the wings; the unassuming angel with blue eyes that could see past all of Dean’s bullshit; the man who was tone deaf but still sang along to all of Dean’s favorite classic rock songs; the angel who could basically read Dean’s mind and moods and knew how to act accordingly; the man who Dean ached for while he was on the road; the angel who Dean knew he could spend eternity with; the angel who came back to him. 

Yeah, Dean loved those wings, but boy did he love Cas even more. 

Dean collected all of the loose feathers from each wing in a pile at his side. Some were tiny downy fluffs the size of his pinky and others were close to two feet long with a thick, sharp quill. A few of the smaller ones blew away with the wind. 

He didn’t realize he was humming until Cas asked him, “what’s that song you’re humming?” 

“Hmm?” Dean grunted, continuing the long brush strokes in the dwindling dusk light. 

“The song that you’re humming. What is it?” 

“It’s just kinda a tune I’ve been carrying around with me. It’s not really anything yet.” 

“Are there words?” 

“Sorta?” 

“Will you sing it for me?” 

“I dunno Cas, it’s not really even a song yet.” 

“Please?” 

Dean learned early on that he had a hard time saying no to Cas, so he began to sing, sort of making it up as he went and humming the parts he wasn’t sure about but actually kind of liking how it turned out. 

_If Jesus was an angel_  
_If Jesus was an angel_  
_It’d be a step down for him, but one step closer to me_

_If bluebirds were drops of rain_  
_If bluebirds were drops of rain_  
_It’d be a step down, there’d be music whenever rain came_

_If you were next to me tonight_  
_If you were next to me tonight_  
_It’d be a step down for you, but I’d be high_

He definitely noticed as Castiel’s wings continued to purr as he sang and brushed. Even once the song was over he continued to hum, because the sun was gone now and a cool, blue light had engulfed them and it seemed appropriate. The feathers seemed to glow, warmth and power radiating from them into the meadow and up into the sky. Dean thought for a second that he could feel Castiel’s grace possessing him, racing from his fingertips to his shoulder through his chest and spreading through his body with every pulse. 

Or maybe that was just excitement. 

Regardless, there isn’t anything else in the world that is worth a tenth of that feeling. 

“Cas?” Dean puts the brush down next to the empty wing oil bottle and the pile of feathers he had been collecting, and he combs his fingers through the wing a final time. The feathers are soft and shining, each one in its place. 

“Yes Dean?” 

“I think your wings are done. They’re… uh, they look perfect.” 

Dean stands up and stretches, cracking his knees, then reaches for Cas and helps him up. When Cas is standing he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck before expanding his wings quickly with a loud _whoosh!_ and a snap that cracks through the air like a whip. 

They really do look perfect, and Dean did that. 

“Dean, this is incredible.” Castiel looks out at each wing, moving them around and taking stock of them. He looks down at the pile of feathers Dean made. “I don’t think they’ve ever looked like this before.” 

“Yeah.” 

Dean does his best to hide his disappointment. 

While he thoroughly enjoyed touching and brushing and taking care of the wings, he’s going to miss the scruffy little tufts and the sort of frazzled look of them. They matched Cas so perfectly before, like how his hair was always just slightly disheveled or his jaw always had a five o’clock shadow even when he’d shave. Cas was always just perfectly _off,_ and now his wings were too polished. It wasn’t right… 

“What?” Cas asks, giving Dean a confused look with a tilted head and eyes so blue in the twilight that Dean thought he might drown. 

“What? Nothing. How do they feel?” 

“Amazing.” Cas smiles, batting his wings a few more times. He then puffs them up, shakes them out, and once again the feathers are askew and tousled and messy. “Dammit.” Cas mutters and frowns. 

Dean laughs and it wrings the anxiety right out of him. 

“This is much better,” Dean says, so in love with the dork in front of him that he could scream. 

He doesn’t, and instead steps into Cas’ personal space and captures his lips in a deep kiss. 

They settle into each other, sinking back down to the blankets, and the next time Dean opens his eyes he’s on his back staring up at a deep blue sky full of stars with the weight of his angel resting comfortably on top of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [-One Step Down by Josh Ritter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPi_TlPh_so)


	35. Long Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m not afraid of the dark  
> When the sun goes down  
> And the dreams grow teeth  
> And the beasts come out and  
> Cast their long shadows  
> Every time that they start  
> I’ll be right here with you  
> I’m not afraid of the dark  
> [-Long Shadows](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iPl9w_YTBuI)

**Chapter 35**

Castiel had lived through eons of mediocrity and adequacy. He was never anything special. He just _was_. He existed only because he was told to do so. 

How had he gotten by for so long without ever having someone look at him the way Dean did? 

Castiel was an angel, but being with Dean made him human. And after spending so much time as an angel – just watching and waiting, fighting and _being_ – nothing felt better than being human. Being human meant so much more – it meant fragility and compassion and free will… 

And kissing. 

As far as Castiel knew, angels didn’t kiss like this. 

“Cas,” Dean whispered into the kiss that neither of them seemed able to ease up on. “Please,” was the only other word he could get out. 

And it was enough. Castiel knew what he was asking for. He could feel it – Dean’s soul was screaming for it and Castiel’s grace wanted nothing more than to give his soul everything it needed. 

There was no urgency in the way they moved together. There were only thoughtful, calculated movements as they peeled the clothing off each other. Every nerve in Castiel’s body felt wrought with electricity, and he was sure to waste none of that energy, keeping his focus solely on Dean as Dean did on him. 

With their combined fingers and Dean’s tongue they prepare Castiel, and when Dean finally pushes in he is naked inside Castiel for the first time. They revel in the sheer, intoxicating heat of skin-on-skin. The proper precautions for this act had been taken months ago, but they had been waiting for this. This first, true connection wouldn’t have been right if it had been rushed while Dean was on tour. It seems fitting, perfect even, that it would occur for the first time as they initiate their bond. 

It grows darker and then it doesn’t anymore. A thunderstorm rolls by far off in the distance. The air is muggy and sticky and heavy around them and it conducts the energy between them into bright sparks and light – or maybe that is the lightning striking miles away. It is hard to tell. To Castiel, it feels like it’s all coming from them. 

Sex is a dance that the two of them had been practicing for a long while, but tonight is different. They can both feel it. Something primal and angelic takes over Castiel and he follows his ancient instincts, guiding Dean, and Dean follows so willingly. As Dean finds his rhythm thrusting up into Castiel, slow and steady and unyielding, Castiel feels his grace stir. It is primed and waiting. 

Dean’s flawless aim and the brutal stimulation against his prostate is making it difficult to concentrate, but he wants to do this, he _needs_ to do this, so Castiel leans forward and takes hold of Dean. One palm grips Dean’s left arm below his shoulder, and the other braces himself against Dean’s chest. 

Castiel focuses on his grace; he tries to imagine it pouring out of himself and into Dean, willing it to latch onto Dean’s soul and come back to him, calling Dean’s soul to come to him too. _I will keep you safe. Please, please…_

He wants to carry a part of Dean with him always, and he wants to give a piece of himself to Dean as well, but what if he can’t? There’s no way to tell if… 

That’s when he hears Dean shout, his hips stuttering then stilling, and eyes squeezing shut. 

Castiel can feel his palm – the one gripping Dean’s bicep tightly – and it’s burning. When he looks down at it, it’s glowing, a beautiful, dim, blue light. 

His grace. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” Castiel falls forward, tangling his free hand in Dean’s hair. He tries to whisper reassuring things in Dean’s ear but all he feels is static and all he can say is “it’s alright Dean just stay with me it’s okay it’s okay” mumbled over and over, barely discernible over Dean’s whimpers. 

“Cas what’s happening?” There is fear in Dean’s voice and it nearly breaks Castiel. Then Dean shouts in pain and Castiel thinks about stopping but he truly cannot because his hand has fused to Dean’s arm. 

And also because it’s about to get really _really_ amazing. 

“Be still, Dean. Please. It’s okay.” He cards his fingers though Dean’s hair until Dean opens his eyes and is finally able to take a few deep breaths. “It’s my grace, Dean, it’s just my grace. It’s bonding to you.” 

“I feel like my blood is on fire.” Dean whispers. 

“It’s not, I promise,” Castiel has never been good at reassuring anyone of anything, but he does remember what it felt like to get his grace back when he went back to Heaven. It felt like he had forgotten that he had been ripped in two and was being sutured back together. 

Is that what Dean is feeling? 

Panic begins to bubble through the static, but it is abruptly smothered with a sudden surge of energy and warmth. A white hot light burns right behind his eyes, so bright at first that it’s almost black before it softens into something beautiful. 

Castiel recognizes it immediately and _now everything makes sense_. 

It is Dean’s soul. 

And it’s extraordinary: so precious, so seemingly delicate but powerful and so much a part of Dean that Castiel knew he would be able to identify it on any plane of existence. It will always be Dean’s tell, that brilliant light that lives within him – in Heaven or in Hell or on Earth – Castiel will always be able to follow that light and it will always lead him back to Dean. 

It hovers there in Castiel’s mind, perfectly golden and swirling around playfully with the grace that had pulled it into him. 

Castiel can’t think or breathe. He can’t do anything except feel the bond forming. He’s still aware, however, of Dean’s arms squeezing him almost too tightly, and of the tears falling from his eyes and getting lost somewhere along the crook of Dean’s neck which Castiel has burrowed himself into. 

Simply put – this is _everything_. It is what Castiel always was and always will be. It is what Dean has made him. It is home and family and love and _oh god_ so much love Castiel can feel a choked off sob escape his lungs. 

He feels Dean squeeze him impossibly tighter. 

“ _Cas!_ ” Dean cries out his name in exultation, and then suddenly it’s like the air has been sucked out of the atmosphere and everything is silent and crisp. 

It is over. The bond is complete. 

Eventually Castiel pushes himself up, as he had collapsed onto Dean. He’s able to release his hand from Dean’s arm and Dean hisses as he peels it away, leaving an angry red welt – a burn, apparently – in the perfect shape of Castiel’s hand. 

Then he feels Dean shift inside of him and the movement triggers something phenomenal. He can feel the pleasure of his own body, but he can also feel Dean’s pleasure. He can feel every molecule; every touch and twitch of muscle and every emotion and all of the love that he feels for Dean is reflected back at him with all of the love that Dean feels for him. 

Castiel wills himself to move again, just a bit, up and back down on Dean’s shaft, and they both cry out. 

“Cas what’s happening? This is amazing…” Dean’s voice is completely and utterly _wrecked_ and he starts to lightly move into Castiel. The same devastatingly intense feelings rush through them both once again, and it feels better somehow. It’s less shocking and more… perfect. 

“I believe that we have successfully bonded.” Castiel forces the words from his lungs. “Oh, _god,_ Dean…” he collapses into the perfect man below him, wings beating at the ground, arms curled around Dean’s neck. Dean’s helpless ramblings are all he can hear as they find their rhythm as they had before, except this time it’s more… everything. It’s just _more._

Dean has always been talkative in bed. He always asks Castiel what he wants, what he needs, how he likes it, tells him how good he feels. But now, while Dean is still talkative, he just keeps saying, “I’m yours Cas, always. I’m yours. I love you, fuck, Cas I love you.” 

Castiel himself cannot speak, at least not in English, so he just focuses on the new incredible composite of soul and grace that they have created, and Dean keeps telling Castiel how much he loves him until they are both shouting into the darkness as they come together. 

“Is that what sex is like now?” Dean asks hours later after another round of mind-blowing bond-sex as they lie on their backs looking up at the stars and catching their breath. 

“I don’t know. I’ve never bonded with someone before.” Castiel answers honestly. 

“Jesus fuck, we’re never going to get anything else done. I’m never going on tour again. I’m just going to stay home and we’re going to do that all day every day until it kills us.” Dean smirks and Castiel kisses him if only to shut him up. 

They finally fall asleep naked at dawn and sleep until the sound of thunder wakes them in the mid morning. Dean plays guitar and Castiel distracts him with blowjobs and song requests. Dean feeds Castiel apple slices dipped in honey and makes obscene gestures with the hot dogs. When the storm rolls in mid-afternoon, Castiel covers them with his wings at first but soon they end up fucking in the rain until mud soaks through the blankets and they run back to the house for shelter. 


	36. Getting Ready to Get Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They said your soul needed savin'  
> So they sent you off to bible school  
> But you know a little more  
> Than they were sure was in the Golden Rule  
> Be good to everybody  
> Be a strength to the weak  
> Be a joy to the joyful  
> Be the laughter in the grief  
> And give your love freely to whoever that you please  
> Don't let nobody tell you 'bout who you oughta be  
> And when you get damned in the popular opinion  
> It's just another damn of the damns you're not giving  
> [-Getting Ready to Get Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7t48Wf-k1cM)

**Chapter 36**

**-Two Months Earlier-**

Castiel decided to confront his demons after a particularly eye-opening session with Dr. Barnes, his therapist. 

Therapist. 

Castiel may have only spent a few years on this planet but he was fairly certain that Pamela wasn’t a therapist. She didn’t accept any major insurance providers, and she had abilities that Castiel had never witnessed in other humans, and rarely in other angels. 

Besides, therapists didn’t flirt shamelessly with their clients or see patients in their living rooms full of dusty records, old stereo equipment, and incense burners. And therapists don’t normally spend hours meditating with their patients, but that’s what he did with Dr. Barnes, and that’s when Castiel had his breakthrough. 

During their first session together, back when Castiel had been apprehensive about seeking professional help, Pamela put on a REO Speedwagon album and they spent their entire hour together talking about the democracy that exists in a honeybee hive. 

During their sixth session together they practiced something along the lines of astral projection and they took a walk around the neighborhood together. Castiel had mentioned that he’d always wondered what it would be like to walk around without his wings weighing him down. He didn’t like it much. 

It was during their eighth session that they began discussing what Castiel truly wanted to achieve during their time together. 

“I want to know who got me out of Heaven.” Castiel had told her. 

“Don’t you believe that it was God? 

“I do,” he said honestly, “but I want to know who God is.” 

Pamela didn’t question it and instead began to formulate a plan. 

It was during their twelfth session that Castiel finally found the answer he had been searching for – the crystal clear identity of God. 

Pamela had them sitting on the shag carpet in the living room, barefoot, and she had chanted a short incantation while lighting candles around them. This was going to be their fourth attempt at conjuring an image of who Castiel had seen in the moments just before he fell. 

“Now, I know I ask you this every time, but was there some part of him that touched you? You said you were shoved, did he physically shove you or…” 

“I… I can’t remember.” 

“Don’t get frustrated Castiel, it’s alright. But, if there is some part of you that he touched that we can focus on, something that you think, even _maybe_ , did God push you or grab you? Did he shove you in…” 

“The chest?” Castiel tried. He remembered falling ass-first out of Heaven so maybe he was shoved in the chest? 

Would God even do that? None of this made sense. 

“Okay. We’ll try that this week. And you know, if it doesn’t work we’ll just try something else next week. Maybe he grabbed you a little farther south…” 

“God did not toss me out of Heaven by my penis if that’s what you’re getting at.” Castiel grinned, comfortable with this back and forth with Pamela by this point. 

“Boring. Alright, then the chest it is.” She sat cross-legged with Castiel on the floor amongst the candles, and butted her knees against his. She then placed her hands on his chest, similar to how someone would place them if trying to push him back. 

Castiel closed his eyes as Pamela began chanting, and soon everything was quiet and fuzzy, and then there was nothing. 

If time passed then Cas didn’t notice it. 

“Castiel.” He heard. “Come on, wake up sugar butt.” Pamela’s voice is soothing as Castiel regained consciousness slowly, first feeling the weight of himself and his wings, then the ache from sitting on the floor. He opened his eyes. “There you are. Welcome back.” Pamela was still sitting in front of him but her hands were in her lap now. 

“What happened? I feel…” 

“You’ve been out for almost four hours.” She interrupted, and Castiel noticed that all of the candles had burned down into puddles of wax in their dishes. “What do you remember now?” Pamela asked, smiling like she knew something he didn’t. 

It was clear as day to Castiel then. 

“Who’s Chuck?” Pamela asked. Castiel didn’t answer her and could only give her a blank stare. 

“Why?” 

“Because you just spent the past couple hours saying his name over and over…” 

Castiel needed to get to Dean right away. 

He was glad that Dean had talked him into getting his flight license, now if only Dean would answer his damn phone. 

He picks up on the sixth ring. 

“Hey Cas. How was Dr. Barnes? Did you…” 

“Where are you right now?” 

“Oh, uh, place called the Orange Peel. Asheville, North Carolina. Outside in the back by the bus…” 

Castiel spread his wings and... _whuffwoosh_. 

“Hey.” Dean hangs up the phone and slips it back in his jeans pocket when Castiel lands directly in front of him. 

“Where’s Chuck?” 

“Gee, it’s great to see you too Cas.” Dean sulks. Castiel leans in to give him a chaste peck on the lips which Dean absolutely doesn’t allow, and he pulls Castiel in for something much less appropriate for a city sidewalk, ultimately resulting in Dean being shoved up against the side of the bus and kissed until he’s left gasping. 

Castiel growls, “Don’t distract me,” and he bites at Dean’s lips a few more times before pulling away. “I need to speak to Chuck.” 

“Fine, asshole,” Dean sounds little breathless, and it makes Castiel a little proud. “Chuck’s inside setting up for sound check.” Castiel turns and walks to the door that Dean pointed to. Its propped open with a… 

“I hate it when you leave but I _looove_ watching you go.” Dean says from behind him. Castiel turns and sees Dean leaning smugly against the bus with his arms crossed over his chest, his hair still slipshod and fluffy. 

“Am I the only one blessed with your unfortunate clichés?” Castiel asks him. 

“I save ‘em all for you babe.” Dean smiles. 

Castiel rolls his eyes and heads through the backdoor of the venue. 

He’s met with the loud screech of a slide guitar and follows the sound, navigating through the back room and nodding to Benny and Ash, who are unpacking more equipment to the side of the stage. 

When Castiel sees Chuck on the stage he wonders how he ever doubted who shoved him out of Heaven, and when Chuck sees Castiel approaching he smiles anxiously. 

Why God would ever be wary of an angel, especially a fallen angel like Castiel, is a mystery to him. 

Regardless, Chuck sets his guitar in the cradle of the stand, hops off the stage, and walks up to Castiel. 

“So,” his voice cracks and he clears his throat. “You figured it out. Finally.” 

Castiel cannot speak. All of the things he’s wanted to ask to ask God swirling around in his head: Why did he disappear? Why was he sitting back and letting the angels slaughter each other? And what made Castiel so special? Why save him and let so many others kill or be killed? And why the hell was he playing guitar in some indiscriminate two-bit _I’m sorry Dean I love you_ folk band? 

Chuck laughs. 

“I won’t tell him you said that.” Chuck turns and walks away. Castiel follows until Chuck gestures for him to sit down on a bar stool. Chuck walks around the back of the bar and pours the cheapest whiskey into two glasses and offers one to Castiel. “But I will tell you why I’m here.” He sips at his drink. 

“Hey, you can’t be back there, man, come on…” an exasperated employee of the Orange Peel carrying a heavy-looking crate shouts at Chuck. 

“Oh, my bad.” Chuck mutters and walks back around, sitting down on a stool next to Castiel. “Gabriel isn’t wrong, you know, being pissed about how things have turned out down here.” 

“Does,” His voice is softer and more uneven than he anticipated, so Castiel clears his throat and tries again. “Does Gabriel know…?” 

“Nope. Uh, nobody does except for you actually.” 

“Why me?” 

“Because Dean needs you. And I need Dean.” Chuck takes another sip of his whiskey and winces. “That confused head-tilt you do is so cute. That was my idea, you know.” He pauses again, absorbing Castiel’s confusion and laughing to himself. 

Chuck continues, “Gabriel wants to revert the old texts back to the way they were, and he’s got the right idea but he’s going about it all wrong. It needs an update, really, this whole _religion_ thing. It’s so _old-fashioned_. Instead of restoring my Word I’m updating it, and Dean is helping me.” 

“What are you, I mean, how is Dean…” Castiel doesn’t even know how to ask what he wants to ask, but God – being _all-knowing_ – answers anyway. 

“Haven’t you ever wondered why Dean sings about angels? And faith? Think of everything he’s gone through… and this guy – he still has this unwavering faith. I mean, not in _me,_ but he believes in himself, and that things can work themselves out. He just keeps on keepin’ on, and people will listen to a man like that because it’s real. He’s real. People can’t see God, but they can sure as hell see a good lookin’ country boy from Kansas. And he’s singing the newest testament: _The Winchester Gospels_.” 

Chuck looks rather proud at that, but then his expression falters when Castiel doesn’t acknowledge his cleverness. 

“Or, uh, whatever. The name’s a work in progress. But Dean's telling the stories and preaching about love and faith and forgiveness in a way that doesn’t make everyone feel guilty as shit. He’s flawed, and humanity can sing along to that tune because everyone is flawed and they’re sick of feeling bad about it. He’s telling a beautiful story.” 

There is a small break in his words when an employee walks behind the bar and gives Chuck a dirty look. As soon as the employee walks away, Chuck reaches over the bar and grabs the whiskey bottle from where he had set it, clearly intending to pour himself another drink. Before he can manage it, however, the employee rushes back and takes the bottle away, handing Chuck a bottle of water instead. Chuck uncaps the water and pours it into his glass, and Castiel watches as the water turns to whiskey in front of his eyes. 

“Where’d you think Junior learned it?” Chuck says with a sly little smirk before continuing on. “A-anyway,” he stutters, “you’re a part of that story now, you know? I mean, what would have happened to Dean if _his_ angel didn’t make it home from Heaven? I mean, yeah, it wasn’t my most _creative_ idea, shoving you ass-backwards into Dean’s living room but, come on, you can’t argue with the results.” 

“But why?” Castiel has evidently taken on the line of questioning befitting a seven year old and is only capable of asking _why_ repeatedly. 

“Because I heard him praying to you, Castiel. If he lost you he would have lost his faith and all of this would have been for nothing. You can’t have the _The Winchester Gospels_ without a Winchester.” Chuck looks to Castiel for validation, reiterating that working title once again. “So, yeah. I intervened. Sue me.” 

There’s an uncomfortable silence for a few moments between the two of them. Chuck polishes off his second whiskey in one shaky gulp, while Castiel hasn’t even looked at his. 

“But why let the angels keep fighting? Why not come back and tell them…” 

“I can’t interfere with free will, Castiel. And believe it or not, angels have free will too, and they want to fight. I can’t stop that.” 

To Castiel that sounds like an excuse, but who is he to question God? So instead he asks for a favor. 

“Could you bring Anna back?” 

“Anna is incredible, isn’t she?” Chuck muses. “I could bring her back, yeah. But I’m not going to. Not yet. She’s always had such _fire_. She’s doing very well up there. She might even stop the war.” 

“You’re being serious?” 

“Very. The angels listen to her. She’ll do great things. You should be proud of her.” 

Castiel huffs a laugh. “So my brother is an archangel, my sister is a hero, and I’ll be–” 

“You’ll be the muse behind the most important book of instruction since the1967 Chevrolet Impala Driver's Manual. You will have hymns sung about you and books that carry your name and teach strength and courage and unconditional love. They’ve lost faith in me. Hell, I can’t even blame them, _I’ve_ lost faith in me. So, sorry, _Cas,_ but you don’t get to be an archangel or a hero. Your burden will be much greater. You have the entire future of humanity in your hands, so, you know, don’t fuck it up.” 

Before Castiel can say anything else, Chuck’s phone rings. 

“Oh! Excuse me, I really need to take this call …” he says and presses the phone to his ear. “Hello, Mistress Magda?” Chuck stands and walks away, but not before Castiel can hear him say, “yes, yes, I’ve been a very bad boy.” 

_What the hell?_


	37. My Man on a Horse (Is Here)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prayin'  
> I've been prayin'  
> And though some will say my prayers fall on deaf ears  
> I never doubted you  
> My man on a horse is here  
> [-My Man on a Horse (Is Here)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CoDs1V6NQBg)

**Epilogue**

Life on the road wasn’t always the easiest. 

And sometimes spending that much time on a bus with that many people made Dean want to rip his hair out. Then, a bunch of gear would get stolen from their trailer in New Jersey or they’d all get food poisoning from eating at a shitty food truck in Vegas and everything would feel so much worse. The smell of bleached sheets from hotel room beds night after night perpetually burned in his nose. 

That was all normal. Dean had been living with all that crap for a long time. This latest misery while on the road, however, was something completely new. 

Homesickness. 

That was the only way he could describe it. 

Dean would miss Cas and their home in Lawrence. He’d miss late nights and lazy mornings and weekends with Sammy and Jess and the munchkins. 

But there were some pretty awesome things about being on the road, too. 

The energy and adrenaline of putting on a show every other night was one. Travelling around North America with his closest friends, that was another. Watching Cas clean up at poker night on the bus was another. 

Seriously, why did anyone still play with the guy? His poker face was chiseled from stone; there was no way anyone could beat him. But still, day after day, mile after mile, Ash or Benny or even Bobby would try to win their money back and every time Cas would crush them and Dean would sit back and laugh. 

The road was no longer Dean’s escape. It just _was._ He was happy on the road and he was happy to have a home to go back to. He was happy when Cas travelled with the band, and he was happy when he didn’t and he’d get to go home after some time on the road and Cas would be there waiting and happy to see him… 

… and undoubtedly doing something weird. The guy had a lot of hobbies. Like yoga. And woodworking. And beekeeping. 

Yeah, they had bees now. 

They had also moved into Dean’s old childhood home in the country. Dean was reluctant to at first – despite it being _his_ idea – but the decision was basically made for them when they were driving home from a New Year’s party in Wichita. Dean was driving them back to Lawrence, and they were giddy and talking about what the new year could bring. Cas was still wearing a tiny sparkling top hat from the party and giggling because he’d had too much champagne. It wasn’t until Dean had shut off the car and turned off the headlights that he realized he’d taken them to his childhood home instead of their house in town. 

At that point they had been thinking about maybe starting to discuss the possibility of moving to the country. 

But as they sat there in the car looking up at the dark windows of the house, Dean realized that those windows should be bright. There should be _life_ in that house. It should be full of family and noise and love and music. Yeah, it had a past – a pretty traumatic past for Dean – but it also held some of the happiest memories of Dean’s life. Yes, his mother had died there, but he also knew his mother there. He’d had a childhood, albeit a brief one, in that house. It’s where his mother had cut the crusts off his sandwiches and his father taught him how to throw a baseball. Mary used to tuck him in at night and sing old Beatles songs instead of lullabies. John used to work on the Impala in the garage. It was where Dean was told he was going to be a big brother. It was Sammy’s first home. It was where he and Cas had, well, _you know_. 

They were all moved into the new house by the end of January, and the first thing Dean did was get the water and electricity turned back on. 

The second thing he did was get the shower in the master bathroom redone so that he and Cas could both fit in it at the same time. 

The third thing he did was fuck Cas in the shower until the water ran cold. 

Sometimes Castiel would come on the road or show up at a random show just because. Their bond gave Cas the ability to know when Dean needed him even when Dean was too stubborn to admit it himself. And it went both ways: occasionally when Dean was away he’d get a _feeling_ that basically screamed _CAS NOW._ It was powerful and Dean didn’t really understand it, but he’d always pick up the phone and call his angel immediately. Dean couldn’t fly to Cas at a moment’s notice, but Cas always seemed pleased when he’d hear Dean’s voice on the line. 

Shortly after their bond, Dean taught Cas how to play the guitar. The first time he dragged a shaking, terrified Cas up on stage with him for a duet, the fans went fucking crazy. They loved it and Castiel started getting his own fan mail, which totally freaked him out. 

When Anna got back the following spring once the war ended, Cas and Dean and the band threw a big party at their house that lasted for three days. Gabriel showed up with fireworks and poppers full of glitter that clung to everyone for days. Sam and Jess brought the kids, Twister, and a bottle of 37 year old Scotch. There was a huge bonfire and people kept showing up until the house was bursting with music and laughter and family, and everyone Dean loved was under one roof. It was the happiest he’d ever been. 

Dean had always worn a smile on stage, but now he knew what happy really felt like. He had always been happy surrounded by loud family and raucous friends. He had always been happy on stage. He’d always been happy when he was with Cas. But now he had learned how to be happy even when he was alone. He could be happy and be _still_. There was no longer a desperate need to keep moving, to move fast and far before he caught up with himself. 

He could just _be_ , which felt pretty amazing. 

That didn’t mean that everything was perfect. 

Sometimes a show bombed or a critic would give a scathing review. He’d be accused of plagiarism or told that his new stuff was too happy or sappy or some bullshit, and that he should go back to his roots and original folk sound. 

Occasionally a group of religious nut-jobs would get on his case about his relationship with Castiel, calling them both all kinds of ignorant names or accusing Dean of ‘defiling one of God’s precious gifts to humanity.’ 

And he was still Dean Winchester, which meant he was still hard-headed and stubborn and he’d argue with Cas and he’d argue with his bandmates and with Bobby or Sammy or whomever happened to be around. 

He’d get jealous of the time Cas and Sammy got to spend together while he was on the road. Those two got along better than Dean ever expected, and while, yeah, it made him happy for the most part, he was always a little sour when he couldn’t be with them. When he’d call Cas and hear the twins yelling in the background, Dean would just know that, while he’s off playing the guitar for strangers, the two people he cares about most are hanging out without him. 

But there was nothing _terrible._ He had his own angel who loved him more than life, who Dean loved more than he ever thought possible. 

During the months that Dean wasn’t on tour they talked about home renovations and whether or not to get a cat. 

They celebrated anniversaries and birthdays and random weekdays just because they wanted to. 

They would babysit the twins when Sam and Jess needed a weekend away. They’d make macaroni and cheese and watch movies until the kids would fall asleep with them on the couch, usually curled up under Uncle Cas’ wings. 

They wondered if they should adopt and decided to wait until after Dean’s career died down a little bit and Cas finished his second degree so they could both spend more time at home. 

About a year later they changed their minds and started the process to adopt a baby girl they named Charlotte (or Charlie, as everyone ended up calling her). Man, the first time Dean held her… he’ll never forget that. Straight up fuckin’ magic, that’s what that was. 

That is Dean’s family _._ Cas and Charlie – that is his life. 

Soon almost every wall of their home is covered in pictures of their little family. Castiel takes pictures of Dean playing guitar and singing to a chubby baby Charlie while she rolls around on a quilt next to him in the backyard. There are pictures of Sammy and Jess and the twins holding Charlie shortly after they brought her home. There are even pictures of Mary and John up around the house, and the framed photo of Sammy and Dean with their parents on the front porch is still on the mantle in the living room. Dean’s favorite picture, however, is of Cas sitting on the couch, with a sleeping baby Charlie in a pink onesie resting against his chest, his arms holding her with one wing lightly wrapped around her too. 

Dean remembers taking the picture… vividly… 

Charlie was almost ten months old and they were fucking exhausted. Cas had stayed up with her all night because she just wouldn’t stop crying, and Dean had been out late at a show in Kansas City and didn’t get home until almost four in the morning. 

They fought about exactly what they told themselves they wouldn’t fight about: Cas accused Dean of ‘not really being there’ for them because he was off ‘working’ (the air quotes _really_ pissing Dean off), and Dean bitterly reminded Cas about how he had promised not to use Dean’s career against him. They yelled at each other over Charlie’s cries. It was just barely past six in the morning when Dean had stormed off to the bedroom and Cas stayed on the couch with a screaming Charlie. 

Dean felt guilty, of course, but he was also stubborn as a jackass and thought Cas should be the one to come up and apologize. 

Then he thought about how Cas had spent the whole day with a screaming baby, and he knew how loud that little monster could be. He also knew that instead of letting her cry it out in her crib, Cas had held her and tried to comfort her the whole damn time. He’d probably fed her and changed her and burped her a hundred times, and maybe he even sang to her (which, Dean laughed, probably made her cry even more because, God, did he love the guy but he was tone deaf as fuck). Cas hadn’t even sent Dean a text complaining about it. 

It took Dean about fifteen minutes to turn around and head back downstairs. It was eerily quiet and for a split second he worried that maybe Cas had snapped and smothered the little beast with a pillow. But when he got to the bottom of the stairs he saw Cas sitting up on the couch holding Charlie, who finally passed out against Cas’ chest. Charlie had her fuzzy little redhead nuzzled under Cas’ chin, her mouth open and breathing soft little puffs against the AC/DC shirt that Cas had stolen from him years ago. Even though his head was drooping down and his eyes were closed – maybe he was asleep, maybe he wasn’t – Cas was still clearly on alert. His wing was draped over her lightly like it’s both a blanket and a shield. The summer sun had begun to rise and was casting a warm light through the window and over the two things Dean loved most in the world. 

That’s when Dean took the picture with his phone. His heart hurt with how badly he wanted to be next to them. He wanted to kiss Charlie on the head and run his fingers through Castiel’s hair and curl up against them and fall asleep on the couch with them. He was so full of love at that moment, and he realized that he loved Cas enough to not wake him by trying to cozy up next to him. 

That is, until Cas looked up at him under heavy, tired eyes, gesturing for Dean to get his ass over to the couch with a simple grin and a nod. Cas extended his wing and Dean got under it, reveling in how soft and warm it felt as it wrapped around him. Everything smelled like baby shampoo and they all slept on the couch until Charlie woke about an hour and a half later. 

After that, Dean decided to be more flexible with his schedule, and Cas got Charlie some itty bitty earmuffs so she could go to concerts with them. Nothing made Dean happier than looking out into the crowd and seeing Cas off to the side with a giggly, bouncy baby Charlie on his shoulders. 

Charlie grew up with music and books and being homeschooled by Cas, who turned out to be a fucking brilliant teacher for their daughter. 

They spent Christmases in Lawrence with Sammy and Jess and the twins, and each year the Christmas tree got bigger and bigger and covered in even more homemade decorations. 

The ghosts of Dean's past had been salted and burned, and every demon had been vanquished. Now, he had _ordinary_ problems even though he was allowed to live an _extraordinary_ life. 

Dean Winchester was a lucky son of a bitch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. That's the end.  
> Thank you all so much for reading.  
> Until next time...  
> <3


End file.
